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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22821373">Sprace Oneshot Collection</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliusCaesarBitches/pseuds/JuliusCaesarBitches'>JuliusCaesarBitches</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, other characters will come and go</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 12:14:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>31,025</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22821373</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliusCaesarBitches/pseuds/JuliusCaesarBitches</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Sprace oneshots that will vary in topics (pretty much what the title said)<br/>Oneshots will vary in topic--there will be a content warning at the beginning of each chapter in the notes.<br/>REQUESTS/PROMPTS ARE WELCOMED!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. No Longer Lonely</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey, guys! This chapter is a fluffy one, so grab your toothbrushes and lets dive in!<br/>Also, feel free to request what you want, and constructive criticism, as always, is welcomed.<br/>Thanks, darlings! &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If someone had asked Spot where he thought his life was headed, he would have given the classic answers; finish high school with good marks, go to university or college, get a job, move out somewhere in between. And he'd done those things. Practically flying through high school, he bulldozed through college, once again at the top of his class. He quickly landed a job at a new engineering company that was skyrocketing in business. He was making some good money, too. To top it all off, he lived in a relatively nice two-bedroom apartment in Manhattan, not far from his work, by himself.</p><p>The only downside of his life was how lonely he was. Spot was okay being alone for a lot of his life--mostly middle school and high school. He was known for being a hothead, quick to throw punches, which he didn't bother denying. He got into fights frequently, but teachers let him off easy since he was a "good student". Spot didn't trust people easily, and the few people he did trust he didn't see often because, hey, they were adults now! They had jobs! Lives! So did Spot, but... he'd by lying if he said he didn't want to share it with someone.</p><p> </p><p>Spot was exhausted, collapsing on his couch after an extra busy day at work. The heat from outside had drained him of all energy. He'd just close his eyes for a little, tiny... moment...</p><p><em> Ring, ring, ring </em>. Spot groaned, shifting so he could pull his phone out of his jeans' pocket. "Conlon," he spoke, voice groggy.</p><p>"Spottie, boy!" his friend, Jack Kelly, chirped. </p><p>"That's your "I want something" voice. What is it, Kelly?" he asked, relaxing into his couch even more.</p><p>"Aww, come on! Don't be like that!" When Spot didn't answer, Jack sighed, making the line crackle. "Alright, alright. you got me. I'e got a buddy looking for an apartment, and I just so happen to know that you live alone with an extra bedroom."</p><p>Spot groaned. "So, what? You want me to let a stranger move into my place?"</p><p>"No, I want you let a stranger check out your place and possibly move into your place." Spot could practically hear the smirk on his friend's face.</p><p>"When did he want to check it out?" </p><p>"Tomorrow at noon. I already arranged it. And don't bother bullshitting me because I know you have the day off."</p><p>"Goddammit, Kelly. You owe me one." With that, Spot hung up.</p><p> </p><p>Spot must have been too tired to actually sense what was happening. Someone was, possibly, moving in with him! When he woke up on his couch in his clothes from the shift before, he freaked, sprinting to the shower, barely remembering to grab a towel on his way. once he was changed into clean black jeans and a stripy muscle shirt that showed off his killer biceps (ay, he worked for them, he could show them off!) he opened the spare room. Completely barren, it looked lousy. Spot did a quick clean; vacuuming, wiping down the walls, cleaning the windows, wiping the doorknob. </p><p>But this launched into a full attack. It was already 11:00am, and Spot was just seeing then that he had dishes in his sink, his living room table had trash all over it, and chances were his bedroom was... he had chills just thinking about it. He put on some music (a random assortment of emo shit), and started to speed clean his entire apartment. He went as far as making his bed! And washed his T.V.!! Even the toilet got a wipe-down!!!</p><p>By the time Jack came over, Spot was sitting on his couch once again, staring at his phone screen, watching the minutes go by. his foot was tapping furiously, with no beat to go to since he'd shut his music off. He jumped when he heard the knock at his door. Rising off of the couch, he stuffed his phone away. When he opened the door he was met by the familiar smirk of Jack Kelly. After all this time, it still aggravated him. Spot looked over his shoulder, seeing the person standing behind him. Fuck, what a person.</p><p>The guy had wavy, dirty blonde hair. His eyes were so blue that Spot was sold on the idea of them being contact lenses. This new guy had flawless skin, and was taller than Spot. Small in build, he looked like a dancer. Spot would place money on the fact that the new guy's hips would fit perfectly in his hands--</p><p>"This the guy you were talking about?" Spot asked, letting the two men in. Jack was himself and bee-lined it to the couch, falling dramatically. The new guy stood awkwardly in the living room, taking quick glances at Spot.</p><p>"Yep! Spot, meet Race. Race, Spot." </p><p>"Nice to meet you!" the new guy--<em> Race </em>, said, holding out his hand.</p><p>"You, too," Spot replied, shaking his hand. "So, the apartment isn't that big, but I'll show you around anyway." <em> Get to business, don't look at his eyes, those dreamy, sweet blue eyes-- </em>"I'm sure you can tell the difference between the kitchen and living room, so we'll skip that." Spot started to walk away, stopping in the small hallway. "This is the bathroom," he opened the door, showing off his cleaning job, "my room, and the spare room, which will be your's if you decide to move in."</p><p>"Wow," Race exclaimed, walking in. The light shining in through the window made him look like an angel, hitting his hair making it look like gold thread, skin glowing. When he turned to look at Spot, his eyes were sparkling, taking Spot's breath away. "It's so much bigger than I expected! This is awesome!" He walked closer to Spot, and, yep, this guy was much taller than him. "How much for rent?"</p><p>"Oh, uhh, I actually didn't think of that," Spot replied, scratching the back of his neck. A bad habit he'd developed that he did when he was nervous.</p><p>"Of course you didn't!" Jack called from the couch.</p><p>"Fuck off, Kelly, I was tired!" Spot called back, laughing. If he'd been watching, he would've seen a blush come over Race's face from the sound of his laughter. But he didn't. Because he's Spot.</p><p> </p><p>They'd settled everything pretty easily. Race was to move in the next day. The only thing was, well, Spot knew he was gay, and this guy was so, <em> so handsome </em>. And funny, respectable. They’d learned the basics about each other in the short while that Race was there. Things like jobs (he was a dance instructor and choreographer), hobbies (he liked to sing), and their names (Antonio “Racetrack” Higgins, but greatly preferred “Racetrack” or “Race”). It was inevitable that Spot would end up catching feels at some point. This guy was perfect!</p><p>That’s why Spot was so anxious about Race moving in. Before, he didn’t care, but it’d hit him that he’d have to see Race every. Single. Day. That was a lot of gay panick for one guy! To make it even worse, Spot had to work that day, so it was Jack and a few mutual friends who were going to help Race move his things in.</p><p>By the time Spot got back from work, he was sweaty and exhausted. Most of all, he was starving! However, he was not the best cook, nor did he have the patience, so he’d probably order something.</p><p>When he opened his door, a delicious aroma enveloped his nose, making his mouth water. His stomach growled as he took off his shoes and coat. He peeked his head into the kitchen to see Race listening to music, dancing a little (mostly moving his hips, which Spot was not about to point out), and cooking. </p><p>Spot hadn’t had someone cook for him since, well, ever. He’d grown up with his dad, who could not cook to save either of their lives. </p><p>“That smells amazing,” he blurted. Race spun around, clearly startled.</p><p>“Jesus, I didn’t even hear you come in!” he laughed. He gave Spot a quick glance over--<em> quick glance over, totally not checking out </em>--and scrunched up his face. Spot knew he looked like shit, probably smelled like metal, sweat, and oil, too. “You’re washing up before dinner.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, already heading towards the shower. He came out soon after, clad in yet another muscle shirt, this one a dark navy, tucked into some light grey sweatpants. His hair was still damp. When he stepped back into the kitchen, he felt Race’s gaze burning into him. However, every time he looked over, Race was looking somewhere else. </p><p>The two ate their food with some light chatter, nothing too deep. After, Spot helped Race do all the dishes. This was nice. Spot could get used to this.</p><p> </p><p>Spot was totally pinning over this guy. It was terrible. They had been living together for five months now, and Spot was utterly, hopelessly in love with Race. He’d noticed the small things, like how Race played with his earlobes, or how he always seemed to have a glow to him after a day of dancing. Then it turned into Spot noticing the way Race’s lips looked when he pouted, or appreciating the way his shirts all clung to him in a complimenting form.</p><p>By then, he’d accepted it. An attraction to a cute guy, nothing new. Spot had thought many guys were cute and not fallen in love with them before. So, he played it off. Or, he tried. But then he noticed other things, like how his heart skipped a beat when Race walked in the room, or how his stomach swarmed with butterflies when Race laughed. It escalated to the point where Spot would feel sadness creep into his core when Race was gone. </p><p>He tried to fix it, focusing on other things. But it didn’t help. There was nothing to be done. Spot was in love with Race. </p><p> </p><p>Another day, Spot came in, feeling sick to his stomach. He must have caught something at work. Stumbling through the door, he slammed it shut, leaning against it for support. He was covered in cold sweats, legs shaking dangerously, panting.</p><p>Race heard the commotion, rushing into the room. “Spot!” he cried, running over to his flat-mate. “What’s wrong? Are ya sick?” He put one of Spot’s arms around his shoulders, wrapping his own arm around Spot’s waist. Spot didn’t have the energy to fight him off, instead letting Race lead him to his bedroom. “And you went to work like this!” Race exclaimed, opening Spot’s bedroom door. </p><p>“Sorry,” Spot mumbled, getting into bed (with Race’s help, obviously) and laying down.</p><p>“Don’t apologize for being sick,” Race soothed, putting his hand onto Spot’s forehead. “Shit, your cookin’!” He quickly removed Spot’s boots. “Alright, ya think ya can get your clothes off on your own?” </p><p>“I should be able to get it,” Spot replied, hoping his fever covered up the blush splashing his face.</p><p>“Good. I’ll be back with some soup, some cold cloths, and a thermometer.” With that, Race left. Spot struggled to get his clothes off, but he managed, slipping under his blankets just in time before Race came back in. </p><p>“Ya need to take better care of yourself,” Race lightly scolded, setting down the hot soup and cold cloths, putting the thermometer in Spot’s mouth.</p><p>“Guess I’ve never really had a reason,” Spot blurted before he could spot himself. <em> Ahh, fuck me. </em></p><p>“What? Ya mean ya don’t have a special someone?” Race asked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.</p><p>“Nope,” Spot said once Race took the thermometer out of his mouth. He felt nervous at that moment, nearly naked under his covers with a cute guy taking care of him. A cute guy that was also his roommate. </p><p>“Huh. I coulda sworn ya would’ve--hey, you’re lying way too flat and you can’t have the blankets up that high!” Race, to Spot’s amazement, moved him higher up on the many pillows on his bed. Spot didn’t have the strength to stop him from rolling his blankets down to nearly his hips, exposing his entire chest. </p><p>Spot watched Race’s face instead of focusing on the situation. Race had a major blush going on, his eyes nearly pinned on Spot’s chest, taking in the chiseled, rippling muscle. Spot grinned. Race peeled his eyes away from his chest, instead taking a cold cloth and placing it on Spot’s forehead. </p><p>Spot sucked in a quick breath. The cloth was like an iceberg on his forehead. “Can I pull up the blankets a bit?” he asked, looking at Race.</p><p>“Not yet.” Grabbing the bowl of soup, he scooped a spoonful, making sure it wasn’t too hot, and placed it in front of Spot's mouth. “Eat.”</p><p>“No way,” Spot proclaimed. “I ain’t letting ya feed me! That’s…” He couldn’t find a word.</p><p>“Gay?” Race asked, looking pissed and unimpressed. </p><p>“What--no! The fuck would I say that for?”</p><p>“Oh, ya know, stupid straight dudes always say dumb shit like that.”</p><p>“Race, did Jack not tell ya?” Spot took Race quirking his head to the side as a “no”. “Dude, I’m gay.”</p><p>“Oh! Fuck! I am so sorry!” There it was. The blush was back. “I had no idea,” he groaned.</p><p>Spot smiled softly. “It’s alright. I mean, I didn’t tell ya before.”</p><p>“I still feel bad,” he sighed. </p><p>“Well, stop. I don’t want ya to be upset.”</p><p>“Maybe I will,” Race smirked, bringing the spoon back up, “if you eat all of your soup.”</p><p>Maybe it was the fever, maybe it was the fact that Spot had gotten the fact that he was gay off of his chest to his flat-mate, or maybe it was his underlying love for said flat-mate, but he did what he was told.</p><p> </p><p>After that incident, Spot and Race had gotten much closer. Race had started to get cuddly during movies, and Spot occasionally said compliments. It meant nothing to Race, Spot was sure, but to him… It meant everything. Every time Race used his thighs as pillows, Spot would feel a pang of sadness go through his chest, but it would only get worse once Race would leave. When Race would spend time running his fingers through Spot’s short hair, it would make Spot crave more. But, it meant nothing to Race.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t until Christmas Eve that Spot was proven wrong. The two guys were listening to a Christmas playlist (Race’s idea) and decorating the apartment, Spot decorating the tree, Race hanging up everything else.</p><p>Spot went to the kitchen, getting a couple beers from the fridge. A calm way to start off the night. When he placed them on the living room table, Race tapped him on the shoulder, then backed away. </p><p>“What’s up?” Spot asked, following him. All Race did was point up. Spot looked up, eyes widening when he saw mistletoe hanging from the doorway separating their kitchen and living room. He whipped his head back down to look at Race. “What--ya--what?”</p><p>“I, uhh,” Race stumbled for words, glancing at the floors. “I’ve liked ya for a bit, and, after talking everything over with Jack, I came to the conclusion ya liked me, too.” When he looked at Spot, whose mouth was hanging open, in complete shock, his face paled, eyes widening. “Oh, fuck! I was wrong, wasn’t I? Oh, dammit, I’m so sorry, Spot, really, I--”</p><p>He was interrupted by Spot grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him in for a sweet kiss. Race kissed him back, wrapping his arms around Spot’s neck. When they broke apart, they were both a little breathy. “I like you, too, Racetrack,” he whispered against Race’s lips. </p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Really.”</p><p>The two men smiled at each other, going in for another kiss.</p><p> </p><p>If someone had asked Spot where he thought his life was headed, he would have given the classic answers; finish high school with good marks, go to university or college, get a job, move out somewhere in between. And he'd done those things. Practically flying through high school, he bulldozed through college, once again at the top of his class. He quickly landed a job at a new engineering company that was skyrocketing in business. He was making some good money, too. To top it all off, he lived in a relatively nice two-bedroom apartment in Manhattan, not far from his work.</p><p>To make it even better, he had an amazing boyfriend whom he lived with. A boyfriend who sang, danced, cooked, and was an overall silly clown. He cared for Spot in a way Spot had never experienced before. He taught Spot how to love, how to care for others. </p><p>Thanks to Racetrack Higgins, Spot Conlon was no longer lonely.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Don't Shut Me Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, guys!<br/>So this chapter is kinda dark, I'm warning you now. It mentions cutting, and a lot of inner turmoil with emotions, so if that's not your gig, skip this one.<br/>However, it does end on a happy note, because you guys must know that I'm a complete sucker for these two and I could never leave them unhappy.<br/>Thanks, darlings! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was something wrong with Spot--Race knew there was. He’d been best friends with the Brooklyn boy since before he’d moved to Manhattan. He knew everything about him, for fuck’s sake! At least, he thought he did. With a rich history, the two boys shared everything together, helping each other with any problem that could arise in the other’s life. It also didn’t help that Race had a raging crush on Spot--he had for years, now--but never told him due to the fear of losing their friendship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew Spot was gay; they’d come out to each other years ago. But, there was so much Race didn’t want to gamble by telling Spot. He also didn’t think he could take that kind of rejection, especially from Spot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just don’t understand, Al, he used to tell me everything and now he’s acting all distant and moody.” Race slumped into his friend’s sofa, letting himself be swallowed into the faux-velvet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He always seems like that to me,” Albert chirped, grabbing another pizza slice from the open box on the coffee table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But he’s not like that! Not around me, anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are ya being so pissy about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not being ``pissy``!'' Race huffed, getting back up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, ya are, Race. You’re pacing my apartment, groaning and huffing, because suddenly the most anti-social guy known to the whole of Manhattan is being quiet.” Before Race could chirp back a snarky comment, Albert sighed. “Look, maybe there’s just a lot on his mind right now, and he doesn’t know how to approach ya about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But he’s never had a problem about it before,” Race groaned. “And he knows, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he knows</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that he can trust me. And it still doesn’t account for why he’d suddenly stop. This wasn’t gradual, Al, this was sudden--Spot hates sudden!” At this point, Race was waving his arms around dramatically, still pacing up a storm in Albert’s living room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He could just be going through something… new, and he doesn’t know how to handle it. Could be panicking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But he could at least try! I just…” Race stopped pacing, instead just staring at the ceiling, blinking away tears. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Race,” Albert set down his pizza, wiping his hands on his jeans as he got up. He took Race by the shoulder, turning him so they were facing each other. Race stared into his eyes, searching for anything to make the pain duller. “People get tired, they burn out. Spot can’t be the same all the time, and ya shouldn’t expect him to be. If he’s going through something, or you think he’s not okay, check up on him. You’re going to have to pull through and be strong, because I don’t think he can right now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That’s how Race ended up in front of his best friend’s house, ringing the doorbell at 10:00pm on a late autumn night. When that didn’t work, he knocked. Still no answer. Spot’s car was there, but his dad’s wasn’t, meaning he was there. Ignoring Race, who was now cold and shivering and pissed off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t want to do it, but he was going to let himself in. Spot had given him a key years ago in case Race ever wanted in or needed an escape from his toxic household. He’d never had to use it, since Spot always, </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span>, answered the door. But, it seemed like now he did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race unlocked the door, walking into the bungalow. Shutting the door, he kicked off his shoes, already comforted by the familiar scent of the house, relaxing into its warmth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spot?” he called casually. “Ya weren’t answering, so I let myself in and--” </span>
  <em>
    <span>CRASH! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Race went still. The sound had come from the bathroom… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A heavy feeling settled into his stomach. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please let me be wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Race prayed, rushing to the bathroom. “Spot?” he called again. Another noise from the bathroom. When Race got there, the door was locked, no noise coming from inside. “Spot?” Nothing. “Spot!” he yelled, worry sending him into full panic. He banged on the door with his fists so hard it hurt. “Spot! Open the door, please! I-I’m really worried about ya, man, please!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a soft click, and Race stopped his movements. He took a deep breath in, preparing himself for what he’d see when he opened the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing could have prepared him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, turned towards Race. He looked broken, emotionless. His eyes were dull, and his mouth was so relaxed it wasn’t even in a frown. His muscle shirt was wrinkled, like he’d worn it for a few days, and his boxers looked like they were in similar condition. His hair was greasy and tangled, and there were tear tracks staining his face. But that wasn’t what had broken Race’s heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spot,” he whispered, scared to disrupt the silent tension that had built over the two boys. Race moved to walk toward him, and when Spot didn’t protest, he moved until he was crouched in front of his best friend. “What did ya do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were angry, red, puckered marks all over Spot’s thighs, blood flowing down his legs. Small parts were already starting to dry. They weren’t cleanly cut, instead looking rushed and desperate. And there were so, so many of them; on top of his thighs, in between, and on the outsides. There was a geometry compass lying on the ground beside his foot, dried blood all over it. Race felt like he was going to be sick. He wanted to break down and cry over the horror he was witnessing--but, he remembered what Albery had said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re going to have to pull through and be strong, because I don’t think he can right now.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, Spot couldn’t. He was the one breaking down and crying this time, and Race was going to have to get himself together if he wanted to help his best friend.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Talk to me, Spot. What happened?” he said, voice soothing, covering the pooling worry he felt like a coat of honey. Slowly, making sure he didn’t startle his friend, Race sat beside him on the edge of the bathtub.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was like watching him unfreeze. Spot’s lip started to tremble, his breathing picking up. Colour returned to his face, and his eyes teared up. “I’m sorry,” he choked out before completely breaking down. Like a mantra, he kept repeating it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, hey,” Race interrupted, cupping Spot’s cheek with one hand and turning his head so they were looking at each other. “I ain’t mad, Spottie. I just wanna know what happened, why ya hurt yourself. That’s all--I ain’t mad, I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot took deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. He made an effort not to look down and see his marks, otherwise he’d start crying all over again. “I just… I felt empty. Like there was nothing inside me to keep me going. I… wanted to feel something--anything other than the nothing that was taking over.” He started to sob again, and it killed Race to see him like this. He wanted to take away all of the pain Spot was feeling, and it pissed him off that he couldn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand, I go through that, too. I actually cut for a bit.” Spot lifted his gaze, making full eye contact for the first time since Race arrived. “Wanna know what stopped me?” Spot gave a small nod in response, not trusting his voice. “You. I knew that every time I hurt myself, I was hurting ya, too, because ya cared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I care for ya, too, Spot. A lot. Seeing ya like this sucks ass. And I know I can’t tell ya to stop--that’d be an asshole thing to do. But, next time ya feel like ya wanna do this, just remember that I’m here. Ya can always come to me instead, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot didn’t answer, instead throwing himself at Race, wrapping his arms around the taller boy and shoving his face into his shoulder. They stayed like that for what felt like--and was probably--hours. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now may not be the best time to say this,” Spot whispered into the cloth of Race’s hoodie, “but I… I like ya, Race. Like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race was stunned. Spot liked him? Like,</span>
  <em>
    <span> liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> him? “For how long?” he asked, returning the embrace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Years,” he mumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race couldn’t help it; he started laughing. “Oh my fucking God,” he wheezed. When Spot looked at him with confusion and worry plastered on his brow, his laughter died down, but his smile remained. “Spot, I’ve liked ya for years, too. Like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> ya.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, seriously?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot smiled. He smiled so wide and bright that Race got to see the cute gap between his front teeth, and 200 more cities would receive power. Race smiled back, taking one of Spot’s hands in his own. Hesitantly, they both started to lean in, eyelids fluttering closed, lips meeting. The initial contact sent shocks through both of them. It was like fireworks were going off in the bathroom. The entire room seemed brighter, more vivid. Instead of unease, a sense of warmth flooded the room, replacing all the pain and suffering with happiness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After they’d settled down, and Race got Spot’s thighs properly washed and bandaged, the two boys went to Spot’s room. They talked through everything--what had been going on with Spot, why had he been so distant, why had Race gotten so pissed off when Spot hadn’t answered, and their new relationship status.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After that, the two boys were even closer than before. There were no more secrets, and no more hiding. When either of them felt down, the other one was there to help pick the other one up. Sure, they had a rich history, but now they had a prosperous future.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Skulls and Perfume: Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Race and Spot meet at the mall where they both work in different stores, and romance blossoms!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, guys!<br/>So this chapter is in two parts. I separated them because 1) it was hella long, and 2) the second gets... a little steamy.<br/>Also, I did get a request, and I will be posting that next chapter once these parts are done. More are always welcome!<br/>Thanks, darlings &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was late, and Race was tired. Okay, it wasn’t that late--school had just ended--but still, the last thing he wanted was to be going to work. And to make it all worse, he had a fuck ton of homework assigned today that he needed to work on as soon as he could. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His school was only a short distance from his work, which was an even shorter distance from his house, so Race walked, deciding to get an iced cap down the hall from his work on the way. He walked into Hot Topic (where he worked, so cliche) and got to the usual. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was a few hours into his shift when he was breaked. After clocking out, he left the store, wandering aimlessly around the mall with his food and another iced cap. Once he finished his food, Race found himself at the shop across from his. Bath and Body Works. He had always loved that store, smelling everything, normally buying something he liked. This time, however, he was feeling down. Especially tired, he wasn’t bouncing around like he tended to. That was, until he looked at the guy on cash.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race’s jaw dropped. This guy was intensely hot. Dark curls fell artfully over warm, chocolate eyes. His long lashes cast shadows onto his slightly tanned skin. His two-toned red muscle shirt showed off his impressive biceps, the striped material stretching over his chest just enough to make one question what he was hiding under there. His thick eyebrows gave him an intimidating demeanor despite being short, but when Race watched him converse with a customer over a perfume, he proved to be nothing of the sort. The slight smile that dusted his face made Race swoon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He just had to talk to this guy. Luckily it was a slow day, giving him enough time to talk to this guy and not be late for work. He picked out a perfume, then walked over to the counter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Race said, setting the perfume down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello,” the guy replied. Race did his best not to blush, because, </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his voice. It wasn’t quite high, but not particularly low, either. A beautiful blend of both. His heavy Brooklyn accent had Race’s knees threatening to buckle. “Ya found everything alright today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep,” he answered. The worker scanned the perfume, and Race realized he was running out of time to talk to this guy. “So, I work at the Hot Topic across the store, and I’ve never seen ya around. Ya new to town?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, no, actually. Just new to this job,” the guy replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s your name?” Race couldn’t help but ask.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spot?” he repeated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot shrugged. “It’s a nickname. My actual name is Sean, but no one calls me that anymore. I prefer Spot anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, Spot it is. I’m Race,” he said, going in for a handshake. “Also a nickname. Real name’s Antonio, but I’ve been called Racetrack for years, Race or Racer for short.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pleasure to meet ya, Race,” Spot grinned slightly, shaking his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race paid for his perfume, but dropped his card while he tried to put it back in his wallet. “Dammit,” he mumbled, bending over to pick it up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot had been quite bored at work. It was a slow day, and he was tired after an even slower day at school. When a cute guy walked into the store, his breath hitched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This guy was the complete opposite of Spot. Soft blonde curls sticking up playfully, casting light shadows on his flawless, warm ivory skin. His blue eyes sparkled like a sunlit ocean from behind long blonde lashes. His slim face and sharp jaw made Spot swoon, and when he smiled to himself, Spot lost his breath. Perfect. All of him. From his tall stature to his toned frame. His white t-shirt was near see-through, but not quite, with a blue flannel tied around the waist that showed off his slight curves. His black (tight) jeans were the same shade as his leather jacket, and Spot had to appreciate the skill that took, even though a small part of his mind was wondering how good he’d look without those few layers--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry to bother you, I’m just wondering about the difference between these perfumes?” a lady cut into his thoughts. Right. He was at work. Not the place to be to eye-fuck a guy--even though he totally was not eye-fucking him. Nope.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No bother at all,” Spot replied, turning his attention to the customer. Doing his best to tune out the presence of the other boy, Spot helped the lady as best he could, eventually heading over to the cash and selling the items.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s when the boy came up to the cash, perfume bottle in hand. Oh, fuck, this boy had good taste, too. Twilight Woods, a perfect blend of musk and feminine. It was actually one of Spot’s favourites, not that he’d ever admit he liked anything the store sold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” the boy greeted. His voice, dear Lord, was adorable. Slightly high pitched, it was this sound of pure innocence, though Spot doubted this guy was innocent--not with a grin like that. It made his chest tighten, like he wanted to just “awe” at how giddy the guy seemed, and how giddy he made Spot feel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello,” Spot replied. Great, now his accent was coming out thicker since he was nervous. “Ya found everything alright today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep,” the guy answered, smiling easily. Everything about this guy was getting hotter and hotter--Spot didn’t know how much more he could take. He scanned the perfume. “So,” the guy starting, grappling Spot’s attention. “I work at the Hot Topic across the store, and I’ve never seen ya around. Ya new to town?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, no, actually. Just new to this job,” he replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s your name?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spot?” he repeated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugged. “It’s a nickname. My actual name is Sean, but no one calls me that anymore. I prefer Spot anyway.” His palms were starting to get sweaty now--damn, just a few moments and this fellow was already making him nervous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, Spot it is. I’m Race,” he said, going in for a handshake. “Also a nickname. Real name’s Antonio, but I’ve been called Racetrack for years, Race or Racer for short.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pleasure to meet ya, Race,” Spot grinned slightly, shaking his hand, praying it didn’t feel as clammy to the Race as it did to himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race paid for his perfume, but dropped his card while he tried to put it back in his wallet. “Dammit,” he mumbled, bending over to pick it up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot seized his chance, taking the receipt and doing something he’d never done before. Quickly, he scribbled his number onto it, tucking it back into the bag right as Race popped back up on the other side of the counter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m such a klutz sometimes, I swear,” he laughed. A goddamn symphony couldn’t sound better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I ain't much better,” Spot grinned. Moving the bag towards Race, he said, “Here ya go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks!” Race replied, taking the bag.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No problem,” Spot breathed as Race turned and left. Race waved over his shoulder, the two getting one last look at each other. Spot waved back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Race was practically beaming when he got back to work a couple days later. Since discovering the number written on his receipt, he and Spot had been texting for days nearly non-stop. Race couldn’t help himself--Spot was addictive. He sipped his iced coffee, eyes pinned on the store across the hall, waiting for any chance to see the boy. That boy had an effect on Race, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious as to how much he could affect him--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Buying women’s perfume again, Racetrack?” someone snarked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thought I smelled skunk somewhere,” another chimed in. Race felt his shoulders slump. He knew those voices. When they were around, he had only one mode; piss them off as much as he could.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, since ya wanna know so bad,” he started, already plastering a smile on his face, “it just so happens to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine fragrance mist</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Oh, I’m sorry, let me say it slower for ya. Fine… fragrance--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ya mocking me?” the first person snarled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race put a hand over his heart in feigned offense. “Me? I would never, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Morris.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morris DeLancey was a special sort of guy. And by special, Race meant he was an asshole. So was his brother, Oscar DeLancey. Race couldn’t stand the sight of them, and to make it worse, they always wore too much cologne and made his head hurt. But the headaches could also be from how stupid him and his brother were.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It also made no sense, because he should have found the DeLancey brothers attractive, at least a bit. They both had brown hair, but it looked like dog shit to Race. And the “muscles” that he heard girls giggle over made him snicker. They were absolute jocks, and one could sense the lack of brain cells radiating off of them. It was like two aggressive neanderthals walking around. Race found them repulsive. And they just </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to visit him at work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And just to make his life shittier, Oscar decided to put stuff on the counter and “accidentally” knock over Race’s iced coffee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoops,” he deadpanned. Morris snickered behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race took in a deep breath, doing his best not to explode. He was at work, and as long as Morris and Oscar were in the store, they were technically customers, and Race couldn’t yell at customers. Not unless he wanted to get fired, and he needed the money too badly, no matter how tempting it was to scream in their faces just once.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it,” he said, putting on his work mask. All pleasant, don’t get bothered by anything. “I can get that.” Luckily for Race, the management kept paper towels and cleaning spray underneath the counter for occasions like this, and he was able to clean the spill rather quickly. However, there was only the ice left in his cup, so he threw it out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Found everything alright?” He asked them when they’d actually gotten things they wanted to buy on the counter. The two mumbled “yeah” out of sync. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just when it looked like they were going to try something with Race again, there was a gruff voice behind them. “Pardon me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The DeLancey’s parted, making way for Spot to get through. In his hands were two iced coffees. “Hey, Racer, I brought you a coffee. Figured you’d be done of your’s by now.” Spot didn’t even look to the DeLancey’s as he sauntered up to the counter, smiling at Race. It took his breath away; how could someone be so handsome?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race couldn’t hold his smile back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot had seen the brothers walk into the Hot Topic right as he was going on break. He knew those two, back in middle school--the DeLancey brothers. They had hated him back then because he didn’t want to be like them, and called them out on their shit. Which was a lot, they were shitty people. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Many times he was nearly caught in brawls with them; fists were made nearly any time the DeLanceys saw sight of him or his friends. Eventually Spot had enough, and beat the hell out of both of them, at once, scaring them off for years, which was awesome for Spot. But they hated him even more now, and he didn’t doubt they’d try to start something if they recognized him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But… they were in Race’s workplace. It made him feel uneasy--these guys weren’t to be trusted. They were always getting into trouble, and Spot didn’t want Race getting caught up in that. Besides, he had already had plans to ask Race out on a date after their shifts ended. He’d been trying to get the nerve to do it for days--his original plan being when he first gave Race his number, but he turned out to be so damn cute and sweet that Spot chickened out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now the DeLanceys were in Hot Topic. He didn’t want to ask Race if they were there--he’d die from embarrassment if he got turned down in front of the two greasiest boys in New York.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cursing, Spot walked down to the coffee shop down the hall, buying two iced caps. The ones he knew Race had every day. Race had gotten him to try his a few days ago while he was working, and Spot had been wanting one ever since. They were addictive! Just like Race--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get it together, Conlon,” he mumbled to himself, giving his head a shake as he walked back to the Hot Topic. He had a plan, and he was going to stick with it, DeLanceys or not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Spot walked in, he couldn’t even see Race behind the counter. The DeLanceys were blocking him from getting to the counter, which pissed him off. Anything the DeLancey brothers did pissed him off. One of them breathed too loud and Spot’s anger rose to near untameable amounts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pardon me,” he barked. When they moved for him, not fully recognizing him, he was a bit relieved. He didn’t want something going down with Race there; 1. He could possibly lose his job, and Spot needed money. 2. He didn’t want Race to get in trouble. 3. That was not a pretty side of Spot, and he was still unsure as to whether Race liked him or not, so anything he could do to make himself look like dating material, he’d do. Fighting was not one of those things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Racer, I brought you a coffee. Figured you’d be done of your’s by now.” Spot tried for an easy smile. Hopefully it looked better than it felt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Race beamed, Spot’s heart melted into a pit of lava in his core. There was no way that pure of a smile could be fake--it just wasn’t possible!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks!” He quickly took the coffee from Spot. It was so cute, seeing Race get all happy from something so simple. Spot smiled back. He couldn’t help himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right as Race went to say something else, one of the DeLanceys spoke up. “You’re Spot Conlon, right?” Though he tried, he couldn’t fully keep the wavering out of his voice. It made Spot grin, and when he looked at Race, he grinned back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s me, who’s asking?” he said, turning so he could look at them, leaning on the counter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ya guys know each other?” Race asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Spot could even answer, Oscar was speaking. “We went to middle school with this guy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tried to beat us every day,” Morris chipped in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot just rolled his eyes, barely managing to hold back a groan. Leave it to them to take something out of context. He looked at Race, who’s eyebrows were drawn together in confusion, looking at Spot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We didn’t get along well,” he explained. “They picked some fights with my friends until I eventually got involved and we got into a fight. I won.” He couldn’t help but grin. It wasn’t that he enjoyed fighting, but, damn, if he didn’t love the look on the DeLanceys’ faces when they got pummeled by Spot--believe it or not, he was even shorter back then, and not nearly as muscular.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can only imagine,” Race said, eyes darting down every couple of seconds to gaze at Spot’s biceps and chest. He, of course, was wearing another muscle shirt, though this was tighter fitting across the chest, showing off more muscle. He had worn it to work for a reason, which brought him to his plan… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, Race,” he started, doing his best to choke down his nerves. He would’ve preferred to do this without the DeLanceys there, but it was now or never. “Wanna go out after our shifts are over?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” Race agreed. “What were ya thinking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever you wanted to do,” he shrugged. “I didn’t want to plan something ya wouldn’t like.” Spot shut himself up by sipping his coffee, eyes not leaving Race’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race’s laugh was light and sweet, like chocolate mousse, not that Spot had ever had something that fancy. It only made him more nervous with the two guys still behind him. “I get that. I’m down to go out with you.” There was a playful smirk dancing across Race’s soft pink lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sweet, it’s a date. I’ll see you after work, Racer,” Spot winked, then sauntered back over to his work, not bothering to pay any attention to how the DeLanceys stared at him as he walked away, slack jawed and eyes bulging.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Skulls and Perfume: Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>WARNING!!!!<br/>Things escalate towards the end--however, there is  n o  s e x. Just some making out and getting a little handsy, nothing that graphic. If this isn't your jam, don't eat this sandwich.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, guys!<br/>Got another chapter out on this bad boi! Hell yeah!<br/>Also, the next chapter will be the request, I promise! Again, I am always willing to take more on.<br/>Thanks, darlings &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A date. He’d just agreed to go on a date with Spot. Race stared, mystified, watching as Spot worked in Bath and Body Works. By now the DeLancey brothers had left--they’d gotten awkward since Spot showed up--antsy was the better word. It was like they were still scared of him. Oh, wouldn’t that be great for Race.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But for now, Race was panicking, because he just agreed to go on a date with a really hot guy, but he wasn’t wearing good shoes. Ridiculous? No, actually, Race found shoes highly important. And he was currently wearing some beat up knock-off converse that gave him more of an artsy, shy boy vibe than the badass sexy vibe he wanted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s when he saw them. The boots. They were tall, shiny black boots that had long zippers at the sides with skull-shaped ends, laces, buckles--they whole package. Plus, they didn’t have a big heel, so he wouldn’t be towering over Spot more than usual. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Race finished his shift, he bee-lined it to the boots, praying he could find a pair in his size. Race was tall, yes, but his small feet made shoes difficult for him, especially boots, and Race could and would throw a fit if these goddamn boots didn’t fit--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He found his size, literally jumping for joy. Just to be safe, he tried them on. They fit perfectly, stopping just below the knee, nice and sug, showing off his muscular legs. Even better, they went with his black jeans and black crop top, grey flannel to break up the colours some. Admiring himself in the mirror, he barely registered the voice behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, someone’s getting seduced tonight,” Albert, his friend and coworker, laughed. “Who’s the lucky guy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The hot guy who works at the Bath and Body Works across the hall,” Race replied as he took off the boots, not bothering to put his sneakers back on. Putting the boots on the counter, he continuously checked over his shoulder, making sure Spot wasn’t coming. If he remembered correctly, Spot finished working exactly 15 minutes after Race did, meaning he had 15 minutes until their date.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The one who always wears muscle shirts?” Albert asked, scanning the boots.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Race said dreamily, paying for his new boots.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, you’re so lovesick already,” Albert laughed again. He backed up when Race swatted at him, telling him to shut up. He slipped on his boots, once again relishing in how they hugged his legs. Hopefully Spot was as impressed as he was.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot was totally panicking. Race had said yes. Sure, he’d hoped that was the case, but if he was going to be completely honest, he didn’t actually think it would happen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But now it was, which meant Spot had to be ready.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew Race got off of his shift 15 minutes before Spot did, which meant he had 15 minutes to steel up his nerves and find something to impress Race. But what could he do?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, someone’s looking extra distraught today,” Blink, his friend and coworker, remarked, concern creeping into his voice. “What’s going on, man?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve got a date today with the cute guy who works at the Hot Topic across the hall,” Spot sighed. “I wanna impress him somehow, but I don’t know how.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just flex, or tear off your shirt,” Blink replied. When Spot raised his eyebrows at him, clearly unimpressed, he coughed. “I mean, you already look hot as fuck, no homo. I don’t think you’ve gotta worry about impressing him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot huffed, checking the clock. 10 minutes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Spot strolled into the Hot Topic, his eyes immediately went to Race. And, holy fuck, this guy could dress well. He clearly knew what made him look good, because the boots he was wearing were sexy as hell on him. He must work out, or something, because no one had that toned of legs naturally. It made Spot wonder if the rest of him was that toned--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Spot!” Race’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and fuck, if Race’s face wasn’t just as hot as his legs. There was no getting around it with this guy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Racer,” he replied, hands stuffed into his pockets. “You all set to go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep!” he beamed, making Spot’s heart go to mush. Race shot a quick goodbye to the guy on cash, then walked with Spot out of the store.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two guys walked around the mall for a bit, hitting the many stores. Multiple times Race pulled Spot into a clothing store, trying on stuff and insisting that Spot tell him how he looked. Spot was happy to do it, though, since he got 1) to see Race in a bunch of different outfits, and 2) Race gave him huge smiles everytime he complimented him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race only ended up buying the few things he really liked (AKA the ones Spot said he liked the most).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After going into some stores Spot liked as well, Race turned to the shorter boy. “You starting to get hungry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot chuckled. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.” Race smiled back at him, causing Spot’s heart to skip. Damn this boy and his sweet smiles--they were going to be the end of Spot if he wasn’t careful.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two ended up going to a conjoined Wendy’s, Spot insisting he pay for the food. Race highly disagreed, and the two bickered about it all the way to Wendy’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot ended up getting the food anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They chatted while they ate, learning about each other. They were both in multiple dances styles, which explained Race’s mouth-watering legs; Spot did a lot of working out when he wasn’t dancing, whereas Race was on his school’s track team; favourite classes (Race loved band, he played the clarinet--Spot was more of an English sort of guy). </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Things were really looking up for the two of them, but… what goes up has to come down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two boys walked around the mall some more, finishing up their drinks, barely aware that they’d started to subconsciously hold hands. It just felt so… right. Like putting the last piece of a puzzle into place. They both relished in the feeling of the other’s warmth in their hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stepped into the washrooms for a moment at Spot’s request. He went into a stall, Race propping himself up onto the sink counters, patiently waiting. That’s when they walked in--the DeLancey brothers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race bit back a groan of disappointment--he thought they’d left hours ago! Apparently not, and to Race’s dismay, they had their eyes pinned on him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where’s ya boyfriend, Racetrack?” Oscar snarled, lips curling. Morris’s hands were clenched into tight fists.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race swallowed thickly, looking away, ignoring the two of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fucking answer, faggot,” Morris barked, walking right up to Race and grabbing the from of his shirt, pulling him harshly off of the counter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m right fucking here, Morris. Let him go.” Race got chills up his spine. Spot sounded pissed off. He had lost the warm, luscious tones it had the entire evening, replaced with cold steel. There was no room for protest in his demand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not denying it, eh?” Oscar snarled right before he lunged at Spot, arms outstretched. Race’s heart froze, and his stomach. He’d seen what the DeLancey’s could do, hell, he’d been the victim of their beatings multiple times. And there were two of them verses one Spot. He didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he never had a chance to touch Spot, who sidestepped, sending Oscar stumbling, Spot smacking him hard with the metal stall door. “We’re in the middle of a date, have some respect” he growled, sending chills up Race’s back. He sounded terrifying. He could tell Morris thought so, too, who dropped his shirt collar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now,” Spot started, walking up to Morris, who looked like he was going to piss his pants, “I’d suggest you scram before I get more pissed than I already am.” He looked three times bigger than he actually was, and his eyes flamed with a want for violence. He was daring the brothers to go against his demands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You still didn’t deny it,” Oscar groaned, picking himself off of the floor. The shit-eating grin had Race ready to pummel him. “Probably think he’s hot, too.” Morris let out a nervous chuckle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus fucking Christ, Oscar,” Spot sighed. “We’re on a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking date</span>
  </em>
  <span>, obviously I’m trying to get to that level, and of course I think he’s hot!” Then his eyes widened, slowly looking at Race. The shorter boy looked like the walking definition of “gay panic”, the though facade completely destroyed. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, clearly at a loss for words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Awwe,” Race cooed. “You think I’m hot?” The blush that spread across Spot’s face was adorable, like someone had painted his face a rich pink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhhh,” was all he could get out. Yep, he’d fucked it up. Things had been going great, and he’d fucked up by calling Race hot on the first date. Dammit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, stop panicking,” Race laughed, moving towards Spot and taking his extremely warm hand in his. “I think you’re hot, too.” When Race bit his lip, Spot had to hold back a groan and pull his eyes away from the other boy’s mouth. Not fair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If we weren’t in a public washroom with these assholes, I’d so kiss you right now.” The two boys’ gazes met; it was like someone had charged the room with electricity so powerful everyone could feel it--otherwise known as sexual tension.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race leaned down, and for a moment Spot thought he was going to kiss him, but the other boy whispered in his ear, “Then let’s leave.” Where Race found the courage to do this, he had no clue, but he was glad he did since Spot’s grip on his hand tightened, and he practically pulled Race out of the washroom. The DeLancey’s were too dumbfounded to follow them, and didn’t want to risk seeing something they shouldn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t let go until they were in the parking lot, where Spot’s car was parked way in the back of the parking lot, away from every other car… convenient. Race couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done that on purpose. He unlocked the car, opening the backseat door for Race.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, and you’re a gentleman,” he laughed, biting his lip again. Fuck, Spot didn’t ever go far on the first date, but this boy was making him seriously contemplate it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two scrambled into the backseat, Spot barely remembering to shut the door behind them. The stronger boy reached out slowly, hands resting on the other’s legs. The contact made Race’s breath exit shakily. They faced each other, waiting for the other to make a move. Spot tightened his grip and pulled, sending Race falling onto his back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before the boy could comprehend what direction he was facing, Spot was over him, crashing their mouths together in a hot kiss. It was messy, but, damn, it was everything they wanted. Race’s cold hands grabbed at the hem of Spot’s shirt, pulling it up, and breaking the kiss to pull it over his bed. And, shit, just like he’d thought, Spot was hiding a lot under his shirt. Muscle rippled every time he moved, built and chiseled to perfection. Race let his hands trail all over his chest, connecting their mouths again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Things were definitely heating up faster than he had anticipated, but Spot didn’t care. He untied the flannel around Race’s waist, hands roaming the newly exposed skin, never breaking the kiss. They both let out shaky breaths.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race surprised Spot by pushing himself up, changing their position so he was straddling Spot, which was super fucking hot, in Spot’s opinion. His hands wandered down Race’s back, slipping into the back of his jeans, resting on his--perfect--ass before giving a slight squeeze, making the other boy moan. The sound was beautiful and downright sinful. If Spot wasn’t already stiff as a board that would’ve done it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race couldn’t help it--he grinded down, moving himself fully against Spot’s dick. He moaned again, and Spot’s breath hitched like he was holding one back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot broke the kiss for a second time. “We,” he panted, opening his eyes to meet Race’s hungry gaze, “should probably stop.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s literally the last thing I want ya to say right now, Spottie,” Race groaned, knowing the other boy was right. It was the first date, after all. “True, though. We should slow down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sadly,” Spot said, nipping at Race’s swollen bottom lip. “Hop into the passenger seat, I’ll drive ya home. Unless you drove here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, I walked from school,” Race grinned, giving Spot one more passionate kiss before opening the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once the two boys were settled, seat belts buckled, Spot started the car, pulling out of the parking lot. With some minor confusion, they made it to Race’s house. “So,” Spot started.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are we?” Race finished. Then it all started tumbling out of him. “Because I really like ya, and I think you’re a good guy, and I may not know you well but I want to try to and I really, really like ya Spot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Racer, slow down,” Spot chuckled. “I… I really like ya, too. And I’m not one for starting something with someone if I don’t intend on taking it somewhere. I want to try… being together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hopeful look in Spot’s eyes made Race’s heart swell. “I do, too,” he whispered. The sparkle in Race’s eyes made Spot melt. They leaned in again, kissing slowly, Spot’s hand coming up to hold Race’s soft cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on,” he said once their lips parted. “I’ll walk ya to the door.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <span>The next day, the DeLancey’s decided to pay another visit to Race at his work. However, they were completely ignored due to the fact that he and Spot--his</span>
  <em>
    <span> boyfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Race still couldn’t believe it--were too busy flirting over the counter.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Dudes Being Dudes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>*underlying Sprace*<br/>From the request I got from  Brooklyns_Late. "how 'bout some queerplatonic Ralbert maybe? Just buds bein' buds 'cause they love eachother a lot."<br/>Revolves around Race and Albert's friendship developing, but has some hinted at Sprace because I'm a hoe for Brooklyn ;)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, guys!<br/>So, this chapter is not as much Sprace as the others (especially that last one *awkward cough*).<br/>Done as a request, and I hope I met your expectations! As always, I love request, so come at me with 'em!<br/>Thanks, darlings &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tony’s small palms were sweaty, his shoulders shook. He hated school; sitting all day, no fun, no talking, being spoken </span>
  <em>
    <span>at</span>
  </em>
  <span> all day. He struggled enough as it was, and to make it worse, it was his first day at a new school. His poor little stomach was churning, doing flips and threatening to make him reveal what he’d had for breakfast. A terrible feeling for a seven year old.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mom walked with him to the new school, holding his hand while they waited in the principal’s office. The overwhelming smell of hand sanitizer and paper filled Tony’s small, button nose. He made no eye contact with anyone, keeping his eyes pinned to his kit-bag--rather new, it was all blue plaid, with dark brown straps. He was always proud to tell people he’d picked it out himself, well, he would be… if he had anyone to tell it to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, the principal led Tony and his mother to his new classroom, and his mom had to go. She crouched down in front of Tony, and he met her eyes when she gently held his cheeks. “I’ll come get you after class, okay, baby? Just wait for me at the doors.” Not trusting his weak voice, he nodded. She smiled, giving him a peck on the cheek and a hug before getting up and leaving him there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the next couple of days, Tony spoke to no one. He wasn’t shy, he just knew that everyone else already had friends, and he didn’t want to wreck things. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>During one recess, a couple of guys came up to him. At first Tony thought they wanted to play, since one was holding a ball. But before he could see the grins on the two boys’ faces, the taller one chucked it at Tony’s head, sending him stumbling into the brick wall of the school.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ow! What was that for?” he exclaimed, young voice high with pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ha!” the ball-thrower laughed. “Hear that? He sounds just like a girl!” The other boy laughed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do not!” Tony said, tears threatening to overflow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” a voice called out. Tony looked in between the two boys’ shoulders, seeing a boy about his age coming over to them. He was probably going to make fun of him, too. Tony held his slowly forming goose egg in silence. “Back off the new guy, eh?” What? He was defending Tony? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’cha gonna do? Huh, shortstack?” the ball-thrower shot back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, Mrs. Hannah is already on her way. She saw ya from the soccer field.” The boy grinned. Tony still didn’t have a clear view of him. The bullies--let’s be real, that’s what Tony knew they were--gave each other a look, then took off running faster than Tony thought they could.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s when he saw the boy who’d helped them. His hair glinted a brilliant red in the sunlight, brown eyes shining with satisfaction as he watched the two boys run off. He was a hair shorter than Tony. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wanna know the best part?” he asked, looking at Tony. “Mrs. Hannah didn’t see nothin’. She was playing soccer with the other kids.” He gave Tony a lopsided, goofy grin. He approached Tony, sticking a hand out. Tony accepted the greeting. “I’m Albert. What’s your name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony? I’ll find ya a nickname soon.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That nickname came a few years later, in grade six. The two boys had made their own bond, and Tony had been accepted into Albert’s friend group. The group of boys were always together, joking around in halls and making each other laugh. They had each others’ backs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>During one gym class, the teacher was introducing them to track and field. During the class, the teacher made them get into two groups. Then, they all had to race each other, in duos. Whichever team had the most wins won. Seemed easy enough to the class of twelve year olds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Luckily for Tony, he had been put on a team with all of his friends. And the DeLancey’s--the two boys who’d been bullying him since second grade--were on the other team. Tony waited for his turn to run, goofing off with Albert in the line.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then it was his turn to run. He looked to his left, seeing he was up against Oscar DeLancey, the faster of the twins. Oscar waited until the teacher had their back turned, then flipped Tony off. That was it--he’d show up Oscar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the teacher yelled for them to start, Tony barely heard him, taking off like a shot. He relished in the feeling of the breeze hitting his face, cooling his anger. He lost himself in the sound of his feet hitting the earth, so much so that he ran straight into Jack Kelly, one of his other friends he’d met through Albert.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dude!” Jack exclaimed, taking him by the shoulders. At first, Tony thought it would be because he’d ran right into him, but his face was beaming, a huge smile showing off all of his teeth. “You left Oscar in the dust!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Tony exclaimed, looking back. Oscar was just finishing. Had he really run that fast? Dang.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Finally got that nickname!” Albert exclaimed when he finished his race, also winning. “Racetrack. Race or Racer for short. What do ya think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race beamed--he couldn’t help it. “Love it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The nickname stuck so much that soon everyone was calling him “Race”--even the teachers! It got written on the class lists, much to Albert’s delight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He and Albert had also gotten closer than Race had with the other guys in their friend group, but… something held him back. The only time Al had ever seen him vulnerable back in the second grade, when they met. But not since then, and honestly, he was okay with it. That soon changed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race had gotten big into the Maze Runner series in grade nine, dragging Al with him. He’d read it so. Many. Times. Albert had only read it because Race begged him, and talked about it so much that Albert got frustrated not knowing what his best friend was saying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This started a whole new bond between them. All the time, they would geek out and crush over the characters. Once they watched the movies, it became the actors, too, though the two boys hid those feelings down, not truly recognising what they were.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, of course, when the third movie came out, they </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to see it together. They planned if for a week; how they’d sneak in snacks (Race brought his kitbag), who’d drive (Albert’s parents were free), and how many tissues they’d need (a fuck ton).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything was going smoothly--they arrived on time, the snacks were snuck in no problem, and Race hadn’t had to reach for a tissue once so far. That changed near the end of the movie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>*Newt gets stabbed on screen by Thomas*</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, come on,” Albert whispered to his friend beside him. “That’s not even how he dies in the book!” When Race didn’t answer, Albert snuck a look over, eyes widening and jaw dropping at the sight in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race was crying, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Fat tears rolled down his flushed cheeks, eyelids already puffy and red-rimmed. He’s entire body was wracked with muffled sobs, hands gripping tissues. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Albert didn’t know what to do. He’d never seen Race cry before--hell, he didn’t even know the guy could cry! Race joked around so much, always grinning like a fool, it was easy to forget that he felt other emotions. It then dawned on Albert that it was probably a facade, and he swore he’d kick himself in the ass for falling for it later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Awkwardly, he wrapped one arm around Race’s shoulders, his friend completely collapsing into his side, eyes never leaving the screen.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That was one of the few moments Race had let his guard down around Albert, mostly because after that they became even closer. Albert could see Race, know instantly that he wasn’t doing okay, and would do anything he could to make his best friend feel better. Race never had to say a word. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Albert wasn’t a mind reader, sadly but gladly, and this became a slight problem when they reached their first year of highschool.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bro, what’s been going on lately?” Albert asked one evening as they sat in Race’s room, studying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do ya mean?” Race asked, not looking up from his books and notes spread out around him on the dark hardwood floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Albert let out a heavy sigh, finally getting his friend’s attention. “Don’t play stupid, Racer. There’s something going on with you, I can tell. I ain’t a mind reader, so talk to me.” The two boys made eye contact, Race breaking it quickly, going back and pretending to read his notes some more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve just been… going through some stuff. Thinking a lot more,” he explained vaguely. This was obviously a topic he didn’t wasn’t Albert pushing into, but, damn, the guy was curious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thinking about what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“N-nothing important!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, fat ass lie,” he laughed. “Come on, Racer--it’s me! I’m trustworthy, ya know that.” Gently, he took Race’s hand, once again getting his attention. “Talk to me,” he urged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine! You really wanna know?” Race exclaimed, not even waiting for Albert’s answer, face going completely pink. “I’m gay!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Albert squeaked. He glanced down at their hands briefly, which they had subconsciously linked, like always. “So am I.” He smiled reassuringly, doing his best to show Race he didn’t care, but he also wasn’t into him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, obviously!” Race laughed, laughing even harder when Albert gave him a confused stare, cocking his head to the side. “Oh, please. Ya ain’t subtle, Al. I’ve seen the way you look at Elmer,” Race teased, damn near tears from gut-laughing when Albert’s went redder than his hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, shut up!” he yelled, shoving his friend’s shoulder lightly. “Anyone got your fancy?” When Race abruptly stopped laughing, going pink, Albert gasped dramatically. “What?! Oh, my sweet baby Jesus--WHO!!??”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhh, not saying!” Race stammered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, ya are. Come one--ya know my crush! Tell me!” Albert whined, flopping onto Race’s legs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, fine!” Race growled. “Ya know Spot Conlon, from our gym class?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, what about him?” Albert asked. When Race looked at him like he’d just said two plus two equals three, he flat out screamed, bolting upright. “OH MY GOD!!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up!” Race groaned, falling onto the floor. He put his arms over his face, a pathetic attempt at covering his raging blush.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two boys stopped, looking at each other, then bursting into laughter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“ALBERT!” Race screamed, swinging the door open before said boy could even knock. He stood there with his hand raised, his tired mind taking a second to comprehend that he was being </span>
  <em>
    <span>pulled into Race’s room with super-speed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need your help!” Race exclaimed, closing the door quickly before sprinting to his closet. “I can’t figure out what to wear!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bro, chill. I don’t think Spot’s gonna care what you wear,” Albert said, chuckling slightly at his friend’s panic. “Here, let’s break it down. What vibe do ya want to give off?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Using my own thinking methods against me, smart,” Race grinned, Albert grinning back. “Okay, I’m thinking sexy, but not sluttish. Ya feel me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t, but Spot will be,” Albert laughed, Race gasping and throwing a shirt from his closet at his best friend’s face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Asshole!” he yelled. “Just help me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, okay,” Albert replied, taking the shirt off of his head and walking over to the closet. He pulled out a black v-neck t-shirt, black ripped jeans which he’d caught Spot staring at Race’s ass in, and Race’s black leather jacket with flowers over the shoulders. “How’s this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, idea!” Race ran over to his dresser, opening the top drawer and throwing things out. Finally, he pulled out a silver chain-belt, running back over to Albert. “What if we add this?” he asked nervously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sexy as hell, Racer. Change quick, I’ll close my eyes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bro, I love ya, no homo,” Race said, taking the clothes and changing quickly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ya sure it’s no homo?” he asked, getting a laugh out of his friend.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure. Okay, how’s this?” Race asked, spinning so Albert could see all of the outfit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perfect. Oh, add your Docs, like the dark pink ones ya have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is why you’re my best friend!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just then there was a knock on the front door. Race paled, breathing quickening in pase. “It’s him,” he breathed, giving a small smile through his nervousness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay, I’ll answer the door. Ya finish getting ready,” Albert smiled, giving Race a hug before leaving. When he got down the stairs, he opened the front door, looking down at the boy in front of him. “Spot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“DaSilva,” Spot replied, head snapping up. “Where’s Racer?” God, it was painful how obvious Spot’s nerves were, though Albert knew he was trying his hardest to hide them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coming. Just finishing getting ready. Come in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot stepped hesitantly into the house. He’d obviously dressed up, too, in a pair of black jeans and a form-fitting muscle shirt. What was it with this guy and muscle shirts?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race bounced into the room, lighting up when he saw Spot. Albert rolled his eyes. As the two lovebirds left, Albert watched, smiling. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Who knew years later that those two would still be together, and getting married nonetheless. Albert stood by his friends, beaming as he watched Race walk down the aisle. Happiness was bursting in his chest, going off like fireworks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Albert screamed the loudest when spot and Race kissed, tears forming in his eyes. He watched from the sidelines as Race cried tears of joy, brushing away Spot’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After, once everyone was settled to eat, it was time for Albert to deliver his best man’s speech. His knees felt like they were going to give out as he stood up. He made eye contact with Race, sitting next to his husband, and Race smiled at him, the same lop-sided grin he’d had since they met. Albert felt himself relax at the sight, and took in a breath to start his speech.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Accio Romance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, guys!<br/>AAHHHHHHH<br/>I didn't post in so long!!!! I'm so sorry!<br/>This chapter was surprisingly harder to write than I initially thought, but I managed to make it work.<br/>This chapter was written for @littleballofsunshyne<br/>I hope everyone else likes it, too.<br/>Thanks, darlings &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It wasn’t meant to happen. The trip was meant for Davey and Jack--those disgusting love birds--yet they’d somehow “not been able to go” on their weekend getaway. Not wanting to let the tickets go to waste, they gave them away, which is how this horrendous mistake happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Race sat there in his window seat, looking at anything but the man beside him. They’d had a fued forever, but stayed civil since they had mutual friends and always seemed to be around each other. At least, that’s what Racer made it seem like. In truth, Race had had a crush on the other man for years--since they’d come to the age to know what attraction and such things were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Race stuffed it down, using it as fuel to keep pretending like he couldn’t stand the other man. And he tried to distract himself with others, let them play around and show them false affection to take his mind off of it, but it never worked for long, if it worked at all. He distanced himself as much as he could, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> worked for years. Until now…</span>
</p><p><span>Now Race was sitting on a plane next to none other than Spot Conlon, his long-time hate-crush. Spot seemed content on watching the movie playing on the screen in front of him. Watching him watching the movie, Race wondered how the </span><em><span>hell</span></em> <span>Jack had convinced him this would be a good idea (it was because half the trip was meant to be spent at Harry Potter World, and, fuck, Race couldn’t turn that down). His heart stopped any time Spot would catch his attention. The longer they were on the plane--roughly two and a half hours--the harder it got for Race to </span><em><span>breathe</span></em><span>. But Spot seemed unperturbed, which only pissed Race off.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The plane landed smoothly, but Spot’s legs still shook. Two and a half hours next to the person you’d liked for years did that to you, even if you’d barely spoken to them. He swallowed thickly as he and Racetrack Higgins waited in tense silence for their luggage. He tried not to steal quick glances at the boy, but it was hard. He looked so good, with his loose tank-top tucked into his high waisted shorts. It showed off his form, and Spot could’ve sworn he was falling harder than he already had every time he stole a glance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was stupidly hot outside as the two men stepped outside with their luggage, sun high in the midday sky. They hailed a taxi, and got to their hotel. After some minor confusion, they got their hotel key. It was only once they got to the room that Spot truly realized he’d made a grave mistake by coming here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, fuck,” Race laughed. What else could he do? He caught Spot looking at him quizzically from the corner of his eye, but ignored it, stepping further into the room, luggage dragging behind him. He stopped, spinning around, fully taking in how ridiculous this all was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was a couple’s suite, of course. How could Race have let that slip his mind?! It was for Davey and Jack, for fuck’s sake. While the actual room was pretty tame in that sense, the bed was… Race sighed, not even wanting to think about how they were going to make this work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bed was massive, with a riviling headboard in the shape of a heart. The covers were different shades of red, and the sheets were blindingly white. The amazingly large, fluffy pillows pulled Race in, and he couldn’t resist running over and flopping onto them like a dork. Spot chuckled softly at the sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Drowning in jet lag, Race’s eyes started to droop. He barely noticed the bed creak as Spot got into bed. His eyes flew open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh, no,” he said, sitting up and attempting to push Spot off of the bed. He barely budged. “No way. Not happening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off,” Spot groaned, swating at Race half-heartedly. “‘M tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,  ya ain’t sleeping by me!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spot sat up, clearly exasperated. “Jesus, Race, where else do you want me to fucking sleep? In the damn tub?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Race faked a cheery face and gasped dramatically, “Wow, what an excellent suggestion!” Spot merely rolled his eyes at him, flopping back down onto the bed. Race huffed, crossing his arms. Before he could even try to get Spot off of the bed again, he was out cold, soft snores escaping his partially closed lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doing his best to ignore the pang of sorrow-tainted affection, Race rolled over, back turned to the other man. Disgruntled, he closed his eyes, not having to work hard to get into the realm of sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Race woke up, rubbing his eyes and yawning widely. He looked at the clock. </span>
  <b>5:32pm</b>
  <span>. His stomach growled loudly, but Race didn’t get out of the bed just then. Instead, he gazed down at the boy--</span>
  <em>
    <span>man</span>
  </em>
  <span> beside him. It was crazy to think that after all these years of pinning after Spot, Race was actually in a bed with him. Admittedly, it wasn’t how Race thought it would happen, but… it happened. He wanted desperately to reach out and brush his dark hair from his forehead. It took all of his willpower to keep his hands still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Race finally rose out of bed, still pondering over how he and Spot had never given them a shot, not even as friends. Race knew he was attractive; he was tall, fit, and incredibly good looking. Though he had his doubts every now and then, Race had been told by enough men and women alike that they found him hot. So why hadn’t Spot ever told him that? What had Race done to actually deserve the cold treatment he always got.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Race felt annoyance start to simmer in his chest. There was no way he would settle for this!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe this trip could be good for something,” Race chuckled to himself, digging through his suitcase for clothes to wear to dinner, plan already hatching in his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are ya talkin’ to yourself?” Spot yawned, barely forming the words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right as Race opened his mouth to let out some snarky reply, he paused for a moment. Carefully, he said, “I tend to do that sometimes. I can stop if it bothers you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot blinked. Had Race just been kind to him? He’d been expecting a sarcastic remark at best, but this… this was unexpected, to say the least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Race was holding a shirt in his hands, turned halfway to meet Spot’s stunned gaze. The pose made him look </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though Spot always thought Race looked goddamn delicious. Speaking of, they were supposed to be headed to dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling his brain off of cloud nine and back to reality, Spot said, “Nah, it’s fine. Do what you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tend to,” Race replied, and if Spot had been paying more attention, he would have seen Race’s smirk and heard the underlying tones in his voice. But Spot was not paying attention.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The restaurant connected to the hotel was luxurious. Not a speck in sight, the dark floors shining under the soft chandelier lights. Each table was covered in a pristine cloth, not a single crease in them. Even the dark wooden chairs were polished to perfection. The others in the diner were dressed in formal manors, making Spot feel intimidated. His all black muscle shirt was definitely not up to the status quo, making him look more like a bouncer at a club than someone who should be in a diner this fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Race, however, looked dashing. He had black button up with black lace sleeves that made Spot eyes flicker to his toned shoulders every time he moved. The shirt was tucked into a pair of tight black pants that were turning Spot on every time the other man walked. Race’s black boots barely made thuds as he walked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A waiter seated them at a table. Spot sipped his water, feeling fidgety while he silently cursed Jack for sending him to such a nice joint. Surprisingly, Race picked up on the other man’s discomfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything okay?” Race asked with surprising kindness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Spot mumbled, setting his glass down. Normally, he would have left it with that. He wasn’t one to explain himself or his actions, especially when it came to his emotions. But… there was something in the way Race was looking at him--how he seemed to be picking Spot apart gently with his eyes, cobalt eyes shimmering underneath the lights of the diner. There was something in that gaze that made him keep talking. “I just get uncomfortable in formal settings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’s that?” Race asked, taking a sip of his water, eyes not leaving Spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhhh.” Spot hesitated. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he had already said too much, but it was too late to go back now. “Well, I kinda grew up broke all the time, so…” He trailed off, finally breaking Race’s hypnotizing gaze and drinking more water. He was halfway down the glass at this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Race could reply, the waiter came back, taking their orders. They both ordered the more simple dishes, quickly picking things off the menu to not hold up the waiter. Once they left, Race was right back on their previous conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” he said, looking down at the table. “That was nosy of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no,” Spot rushed out, hating how ashamed Race looked. “I ain’t ashamed of it or anything. Not many people know about my childhood, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same,” Race replied, looking up at Spot through his lashes. God, he looked ridiculously beautiful, soft blonde curls threatening to fall into his eyes. His pale lips were pulled into a small smile, and Spot did everything he could to not stare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two men received their food. Spot was glad to have a distraction, though Race seemed insistent on making small talk. By the end of dinner the two men were getting along decently--better than they ever had before. If Race had been paying attention, he would have noticed how Spot’s breath hitched every time Race smiled, and how often the shorter man was stealing glances at him. He would have seen how well his plan was working. But Race wasn’t paying attention.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a shower, Spot sat cross legged on the bed, scrolling through his phone. Race was sprawled out on the sofa, looking out the massive wall of windows onto the city lights unfazed. The air was tense between them, though they ignored it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though the dinner had gone by smoothly (besides how Race accidently made Spot admit he had grown up poor, that was rough) there seemed to be something off-setting. They were so used to acting like they couldn’t stand each other, it was strange to act any different. The fact that they ended up getting along quite well didn’t help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Spot said, mostly just wanting to break the silence that was suffocating the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Race grabbed his phone off of the glass coffee table, the stretch making Spot swallow. “Jackie says he and Davie had planned to go to Harry Potter World tomorrow, around noon.” The further down the text he read, the more Race wanted to punch his friend in the face. “Fucking hell,” he groaned, tossing his phone back onto the coffee table and rolling over, stuffing his face into the plush cushions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Spot called, finally setting his phone down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They had a pre-paid dinner for tomorrow,” he groaned. “Another fancy restaurant, and by the sounds of it, romantic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What,” Spot laughed. “Not one for romance?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Race felt a blush creep up his face as he stammered, “N-not if I’m not on a date!” Just to make it better (A.K.A. more embarrassing) he shoved his face back into the pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then let’s make it a date.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As soon as Spot said it, he was mentally kicking himself in the ass. He had to learn to shut up!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Race peaked up from the pillow that had cuddled up to. Race stared at him analytically, as if trying to tell if Spot was joking. Spot did his best to seem nonchalant, even though his heart was in his throat and his stomach had dropped to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” It was so quiet Spot had barely heard it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Spot said, like the dumbass he was.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s make it a date.” Race’s voice sounded absolute, like there was no other choice. If Spot was being honest, he would’ve admitted that there seemed to be something else going on--the mischievous glint in Race’s eyes gave it away. Spot pushed it aside, much more occupied with the fact that Race said yes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Race woke up the next day exhausted. He’d tossed and turned all night, anxious and excited for the next day. His eyes opened, just to be greeted by the image of Spot still sleeping. It took Race’s breath away; the way his lips were slightly parted, breathing soft, sprawled out on the other side of the bed like a starfish on his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What stuck out to Race the most was how gentle--no, how </span>
  <em>
    <span>fragile</span>
  </em>
  <span> he looked. All the harsh scowl lines that normally masked his face were gone. The intense light coming in through the windows hit him, making his skin glow. He looked like an angel, nearly childish in how innocent he seemed. It all made Race blush. If he hadn't already hopelessly fallen for Spot, he would have then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Using all of his willpower, Race got out of bed and showered, taking a little more time for himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Spot woke up alone, he immediately panicked, thinking the worst. Maybe Race regretted saying yes to the date and went home, or he couldn’t stand the thought of being around Spot any more, and left. Most of the thoughts ended with Race leaving him in this hotel alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Race walked out of the bathroom then, in nothing but a towel, hair dripping, the water hitting his shoulders and running down his toned chest and back. Spot felt himself stiffen underneath the covers, eyes pinned helplessly on Race. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Said man looked at him, and upon realizing that Spot was awake--and staring at him--blushed violently. “Shit, sorry--I thought you were still sleeping,” Race said, looking sheepish and he walked over to his suitcase. Spot had to take a deep breath just to hold back from outright moaning at the sight of Race squatting down--in nothing but a towel!--picking his clothes for the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“T-that’s alright,” Spot stammered, not daring to move from the bed, scared Race would see just how turned on he was. And he was going on a </span>
  <em>
    <span>date</span>
  </em>
  <span> with this man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll change in the washroom,” Race said, turning and looking right at Spot, and for once Spot didn’t miss the way his eyes scanned over Spot’s muscular chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Race had hurried into the washroom, Spot got out of bed, thoughts racing because </span>
  <em>
    <span>holy fuck Race checked him out</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Spot had never thought he was very attractive, though others told him he was quite often. He lacked confidence, and had too many insecurities to count. Yet Race had checked him out, and if Spot wasn’t mistaken, seemed to like what he saw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Race was so gorgeous, why would he like Spot? He pushed it aside, instead deciding to take advantage over his long-time crush seeming to like him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Race was going to die, and it was all because of Spot’s shirt. Another muscle shirt, no surprise, but this one must have been at least two sizes too small in all the right ways--it was stretched so tightly across Spot’s toned chest that Race couldn’t believe he was still able to </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they made it past breakfast, Race was bubbling with excitement. “What house are you in?” he had asked Spot while they took a cab. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gryffindor,” Spot had replied. There was something different about him--this aura of confidence that Race didn’t know Spot was capable of. It wasn’t the usual arrogance, and there seemed to be an ease in everything Spot did. He also seemed more relaxed, which puzzled Race to no end because this was technically a date, and Race was internally freaking the fuck out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Suiting,” he said, stuffing his inquiries down. “I’m a Hufflepuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spot laughed, and Race frowned. “No fucking way are you a Hufflepuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well maybe you just don’t know me as well as you think,” Race retorted, glaring at the shorter man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to,” Spot said softly, gazing right into Race’s eyes. Once again, Race felt his heart speeding up, his stomach doing flips because god</span>
  <em>
    <span>damn</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Spot was so handsome. Every time he looked into Spot’s eyes, he saw a future that he had once deemed unattainable. But now… now it was within his reach, and Race couldn’t tell if the idea thrilled or frightened him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The men spent the entire day at Harry Potter World. It went amazingly well; they didn’t fight once, they laughed a ton, and they both seemed entranced by the butter beer. By the time the two men got to their hotel room to change for dinner, they were closer than ever before. Physically, too. Their shoulders kept brushing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, now I get why Jackie told me to bring a suit,” Spot said, pulling a neatly folded suit out from his suitcase. Race followed in pursuit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should’ve expected something like this,” he half-laughed. “I just got too distracted by Harry Potter World.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Race came out of the bathroom, Spot’s jaw dropped. His suit was a deep maroon matching blazer and pants set with a crisp white button up underneath. The top couple of buttons were left undone, giving Spot a perfect view of his collar bones whenever he turned his head. He looked ravishing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot looked stupidly attractive sitting on the bed in his suit. The look on his face when Race stepped out of the bathroom was priceless, but easily forgotten when Race saw how he was dressed. The dark suit barely showed the hints of purple it had, and Spot had left only the stop button undone, leaving Race wanting to see more of him. His black dress shoes shone wonderfully in the bright lights--almost as much as his eyes. Almost.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot couldn’t take his eyes off of Race for nearly the entire dinner. Though the food was amazing (overpriced, still), Spot was more delighted by the way Race’s eyes glinted in the candle-light. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The food was amazing, but Race couldn’t get over how Spot looked with the chandelier hanging over him, making him look like the answer to every prayer Race had ever sent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time the dinner was finished, both men had fallen even further in love with one another. They didn’t know it was possible, but it was, somehow. When they got up to their hotel room, they were laughing and blushing, feeling giddy from the romance hanging in the air all around them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they both flopped on the bed, tired from their long day out, they landed right next to each other. Race turned his head to find Spot already looking at him. Before he could even register it, he and Spot were kissing, lying down side by side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spot’s lips were chapped and rough, but he was so gentle with Race, like he was scared to break him. Using his elbows, Race pushed himself up, rolling on top of Spot, never breaking the kiss. He couldn’t help but grind down, letting out a soft whimper when he felt how stiff Spot was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The whimper was what made Spot snap. So quiet he’d barely heard it, but it drove him crazy. He wanted to hear Race do it again, over and over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With more force than what was probably needed, Spot flipped them over so he was on top, moving down Race’s chest to line up their hips so he could grind down. There it was, that soft whimper again. Spot could barely manage to not tear Race’s shirt off, kissing every bit of exposed skin he could reach as he unbuttoned Race’s shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Race was breathing heavily at this point, still letting out soft whimpers, but when Spot closed his mouth on one of his nipples, giving it a hard suck, Race outright </span>
  <em>
    <span>moaned</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was music to Spot’s ears--he’d never heard anything so erotic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot clearly knew what he was doing, hips never stopping as he assaulted Race’s chest and neck with kisses and hickies. Race was reduced to putty underneath the stronger man, barely able to form words. It felt so good, so right. Race had never felt so good with someone before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clouded with pleasure, Race hadn’t noticed Spot had gotten him completely undressed until he felt a rough, calloused hand on his dick, stroking slowly. He couldn’t contain the moans and groans spilling from his lips; there was no point in trying. When had he closed his eyes?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling his orgasn coming closer, Race reached a shaky hand down to Spot’s, stopping his movements. “Spot,” he breathed, barely able to form the words. He opened his eyes and looked right into Spot’s, seeing nothing but love. Love for him, Race, Spot’s supposed enemy. Overwhelmed with emotion, Race wrapped his arms around Spot’s neck, pulling him close and kissing his cheek. “Fuck me,” he whispered into his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spot seemed happy to oblige.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the two men got off the plane, Davey and Jack were waiting at the airport to pick them up. They didn’t miss the way Race seemed to be walking a bit stiffly, while Spot moved with the spring of a man who’d just seen heaven. Or the way they were holding hands, not noticing Davey and Jack at all. Davey, being the quick-witted detailist he was, even noticed the nail marks when Spot and Race stopped in front of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave Jack a knowing look. Their plan had worked after all.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Slamming Doors and Online Chatrooms</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, guys!</p>
<p>I got one thing to say... *clears throat*<br/>HIT ME WITH THEM SPRACE PROMPTS!!!!</p>
<p>Thanks, darlings &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Spot let out a sigh of relief as his roommate slammed their dorm room door shut. Finally, he was gone after yet another argument, and Spot could have some time to himself to talk to </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Him” didn’t have a real name, yet. Spot had met him online--he knew it was unsafe, but he never thought it would go this far… that he would fall in love with this strange internet boy. Spot just wasn’t able to help himself; the boy was quirky, and cute. He made the flirtiest pick-up lines that never failed at getting Spot all flustered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The shitty part was that Spot could only get online and talk to this guy when his annoying-ass roommate, Racetrack Higgins, wasn’t around, since he wasn’t willing to risk a lecture from him about the dangers of the internet. Seriously, he wasn’t Spot’s parent! He didn’t need to lecture him all the time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two had started off on the wrong foot. This stupid hatred for each other had started off aggravated by practically nothing--one of them had made an off-hand comment that the other had found only slightly offensive, but didn’t apologize, and the other one blew up at them. That was their first fight, and neither of them had let it go. They were both too stubborn.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thinking so much about his roommate gave Spot a headache. He opened up his laptop, settling onto his desk chair. Opening up Tumblr--yes, he’d had his heart stolen by a boy on Tumblr of all places--he clicked the messaging icon, happy to see that there was already a message waiting for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why couldn’t Spot just grow up? Honestly, it was like Race had to do everything for the guy; clean up his shit, let him in because he forgot his keys--one time it was freezing in their dorm, and Spot had managed to kick off his blanket in the night, so Race awoke to the sound of Spot shivering. He had to get out of bed and cover Spot with his blanket so the guy wouldn’t freeze to death. Like, seriously, how would the guy ever manage to live on his own?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The worst part about it was that Spot was exactly Race’s type. Into the arts, loved to read, was intelligent (though sometimes Race doubted it), and exceptionally good looking. But the two just couldn’t seem to get along, no matter how hard Race tried. It sucked even more, because Race had been hopelessly crushing on Spot since their first year of uni, when they’d met. He’d like Spot up until their first fight--well, he liked him after that, too. He couldn’t help it. Even though he and Spot argued relentlessly, there was still a part of him that desperately wanted Spot to like him, too. Race hated it. It was why he’d begun messaging </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to take his mind away from Spot and their fights and Race’s hopeless crush on him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Today had been another fight, and as soon as Race slammed the door of their dorm, and had his phone out, texting to see if </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> was active or not. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>theywascoronas:</b>
  <b>  Man my roommate and I fought again</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As he waited for a reply, Race thought about where he could go. He left his bag in their dorm, and there was no way in hell he was ready to go back yet, so working on assignments was out of the question. Race decided to go to a cafe he frequented, take some time to himself and the strange internet boy he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <b>boysfromthebeachesofbrighton:</b>
  <b>  That’s shit man//my roommate and I just fought too</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was funny how much this mystery guy and Spot had in common, especially their hate for their roommates. It was what they originally bonded over. He liked this--having someone to talk to about how shitty Race was, always nagging him. Though sometimes the internet boy would agree with Race, he was much better at delivering his points. He was way more polite than Race. Why did Spot keep comparing them?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They texted until evening. Spot had just said goodbye as Race entered their room, texting someone before launching his phone onto his bed, soon followed by himself. He let out a happy sigh that seemed to set Spot off.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s got you so happy?” he asked, though it came out more bitter than he had meant it to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you care?” Race shot back, propping himself up on his elbows to glare at Spot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot groaned. “I was just asking a damn question--why do you have to get so fucking defensive all the time?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Race scoffed. “Me getting defensive? What about you, Mr. I’m-From-Brooklyn-I’m-So-Tough--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy shit, forget I asked!” Spot exclaimed, slamming his laptop shut and putting it away carefully in his bag (he actually shoved it in his bag).</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Race sigh, sounding exhausted. “Look, can we just not fight tonight? It’s getting late and way too cold for either of us to just leave and blow off steam.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot didn’t answer. Instead he grabbed a book from his shelf and turned his back to Race on his bed, pretending to read when he was actually thinking of words on a computer screen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race hated waking up early, especially on weekends, and even more for work. But he liked working at the small bookstore a few blocks down. It was cozy, with it’s old wooden walls and high desk that Race could just sit at and read books when no one was around.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He got ready quietly so he wouldn’t wake up his grouch of a roommate, getting changed in the washroom, brushing his teeth and trying to tame his curly blonde locks to no avail. He exited the washroom, tiptoeing to grab his bag and left the room, casting one last glance at the sleeping Spot, sprawled out on his bed star-fish mode. His brown locks were a mess, and there were pillow marks on the side of his face that Race caught a glimpse of as the sleeping boy turned. He looked so sweet. It left a pang in Race’s chest. Why couldn’t they just get along?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Work moved slowly. Race studied and worked on assignments for his classes, sipping on tea from his thermos. He felt the most calm he’d been in a while, with no roommate to bother him. Until there was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bell rang as Spot walked through, embracing the calm atmosphere of the bookstore. Normally Spot would go to Indigo or something, but the internet boy had recommended this place to him, and how could Spot resist? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>However, he didn’t expect to find his roommate there--he had no clue that Race worked there. He thought he worked at the cafe not far from the dorms since he was there so much. It was why Spot avoided that area all together. He wanted to just leave the store, but he didn’t want to look like an ass in front of the other customers, and Race had already spotted him from the desk.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a small sigh, Spot made his way towards the realistic fiction section, leafing through some books, ignoring the feeling that told him Race was watching his every move.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Goddammit. Race had gotten his hopes up, again. He had texted the Tumblr boy a while ago, telling him that he should visit the bookstore on a Saturday morning. It was because Race worked then, clearly, but there hadn’t seemed to be any boys coming. Just Spot. And there was no way that Spot could be the same guy as the Tumblr boy--no way in Hell. Or could he be?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Race had never seen Spot there before, and the Tumblr boy said he’d never visited the store before. There was also the fact that Spot, who loved to sleep in, was showing up the exact morning that Race had told Tumblr boy to come. And that Spot kept giving Race weird looks when he thought Race wasn’t looking… </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But that didn’t mean anything, right? Race only worked part-time, so there was a very good chance that he’d simply never seen Spot there. And for all Race knew, Spot loved mornings, once Race left the dorm. Also, Spot always gave Race weird looks… </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Race decided it was simply coincidence, and continued reading his book, trying to ignore the off-feeling in his gut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot returned back to the dorm, book in a bag. He kicked off the snow from his boots and reluctantly set them on the shoe rack Race had bitched him out for not using before. He was tempted to not use it, just to spite Race, but it wasn’t worth it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He plopped in his chair, opening his laptop and going to Tumblr immediately. There was no message from the boy today, so Spot decided to message him first. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>boysfromthebeachesofbrighton:</b>
  <b>  hey//any more roommate drama :p</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The reply was practically instant. It made Spot smile and his heart swoon.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>theywascoronas:</b>
  <b>  Yeah he showed up at my work//bleh</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That struck Spot for a second. Spot had gone to the bookstore today, and Race was working. Could he be… No. Not possible. Spot shook the thought from his head and replied.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>boysfromthebeachesofbrighton:</b>
  <b>  That’s shit bro//I’ll beat him up</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>theywascoronas:</b>
  <b>  I’d like to see you try//he’s super muscley</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>boysfromthebeachesofbrighton:</b>
  <b>  well I just so happen to be as well so I’ll win//also you calling him muscley is a little gay bro//you sure you don’t just like him?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>theywascoronas:</b>
  <b>  just cause I’m gay and have a thing for muscley dudes doesn’t mean I like him//I have to nag him like a mom and he’s so damn defensive that it makes any sort of discussion difficult</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>boysfromthebeachesofbrighton:</b>
  <b>  sounds like a pain in the ass//you have a thing for muscley dudes?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>theywascoronas:</b>
  <b>  well not necessarily//just kind guys who take care of themselves//why? Do you take care of yourself? Cause I already know how kind you can be</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot would deny that he blushed at that if anyone were to question him on it, even though he had been pretty nice to this boy. He’d had some breakdowns--anxiety attacks or something, and Spot had talked to him through the whole thing. The guy said it helped by calming him down, though Spot didn’t exactly understand how.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>boysfromthebeachesofbrighton:</b>
  <b>  well I don’t just wear whatever I find on the ground that’s clean and I shower regularly</b>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why did Race’s heart feel like it was going to explode? This guy was getting more and more perfect. But Race had never met him before--what if he was lying just to get into Race’s pants? Maybe… </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>theywascoronas:</b>
  <b>  you wanna meet up tomorrow?//Like in person?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot froze. He was right about to type a snarky answer that he hoped would make the guy laugh, but his brain just stopped working. He wanted to meet. He wanted to meet Spot. Holy shit it was happening!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>boysfromthebeachesofbrighton:</b>
  <b>  I would like to meet//where at and when?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>theywascoronas:</b>
  <b>  how about the cafe at the corner from the university?//I’m free at 1pm</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>boysfromthebeachesofbrighton:</b>
  <b>  sure//sounds great</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Lord, Spot’s palms were already sweaty, his stomach flipping with anticipation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, maybe Race was jumping the gun when he asked about the next day, but the boy had said yes practically immediately, so Race was happy to assume he didn’t mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>theywascoronas:</b>
  <b>  so is this like a date situation?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>boysfromthebeachesofbrighton:</b>
  <b>  do you want it to be?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>theywascoronas:</b>
  <b>  why do you think I’m asking?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck! What had Race been thinking? He just asked a guy he technically didn’t know on a date--his friends would scream! But he desperately wanted to know who this guy was, what he looked like, if Race had ever seen him before. He couldn’t hold back any longer!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>boysfromthebeachesofbrighton:</b>
  <b>  alright then//it’s a date</b>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot couldn’t fucking believe it--they were going out tomorrow! He’d finally get to meet this boy he’d been wanting to see for so long! He wanted to cheer, to dance around happily. Instead, he kept himself together long enough to close up his conversation with the boy (he said he had to go, and Spot didn’t ask why). As soon as he said goodbye he slammed his laptop shut, whipping out his phone and calling his brother.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as he picked up, Spot was yelling into the receiver, “Dude! Guess the fuck what!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack laughed, “Jeez, you’re happy. What is it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, so, remember that guy I met online?” Spot asked, barely able to contain his excitement. Before his brother could even answer, Spot was cheering, “We’re meeting tomorrow!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a momentary pause before Jack screamed, “HOLY SHIT!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I KNOW!” Spot yelled back, laughing as he flopped onto his bed, feeling like he was going to burst in happiness.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dude, you’ve been wanting to meet him for months!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, I’m…” Spot sighed so he didn’t end up squealing like a schoolgirl in a cliche movie. “I’m so fucking hyped, bro.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Man, I’m hyped for you.” Both Jack and Spot laughed at that, and it was loud. So loud Spot almost didn’t hear Race come through the door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, man, do you have to be so damn loud all the time? I could hear you yelling from down the hall,” he grumbled, though it lacked his usual menace. In fact, he had this silly, crooked grin on his face, like he had just been hit by Cupid’s arrow. It pissed Spot off, for some odd reason. He felt the firm grip of jealousy squeeze his lungs and kill off his chipper mood.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh, I gotta go, Jackie. Race’s back,” Spot groaned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, tell him I say ‘hi’!” Jack said, then hung up. That only annoyed Spot more; how could his brother be such good friends with this prick? Jack had come over once and Race happened to walk in, and the two hit it off right away. They began hanging out and Race was introduced to Jack’s other friends. At first Spot thought that Race was doing it just to spite him, but he seemed to genuinely like being around Jack, which Spot was totally not jealous about, thank you very much.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jackie says ‘hi’,” Spot told Race, twisting on his bed to plug in his phone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cool,” Race said, dropping his bag on the foot of his bed, still looking happily dazed. As much as it annoyed Spot, it also made him feel warm and fuzzy; Race looked so damn cute when he smiled like that. Whichever dude who was making his roommate this happy, Spot was begrudgingly happy for him. He’d won over a pretty nice guy, as much as Spot hated to admit it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race was on cloud fucking nine--he’d never been more happy in his life! Finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he was meeting the boy of his internet-dreams. Everything was working out perfectly, all but one thing… his stupid crush on Spot still wasn’t gone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fucking Spot. Race could never get away from him, could he? Race had thought that maybe, just maybe, when he started to fall for the internet boy that his crush on Spot would dissipate. But it was pointless. Every fight just left Race more heartbroken than the last, yet still made him want Spot more. He missed the days where he and Spot could just get along. Maybe if he hadn’t been so bossy like Spot said he was then they could be together now, or at least friends.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was no point dwelling on it. Spot would never like Race, and Race was just going to have to live with that. At least he still had the internet boy who liked him, though it was probably wrong to use one boy to get over another.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Race decided to ignore his thoughts before he could dwell on all of it anymore and threw himself into the shower. He had a date tomorrow, after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race had left early that day. Spot summed it up to him having work, and totally didn’t question if Race had gone to see whatever boy was making him happy. Nope. Not Spot. No, sir.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He showered, shaved, and and put on a deep maroon muscle shirt and jet-black jeans. He thought about putting on his cargo pants, but decided against it. He was going on a date after all.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He timed everything perfectly, putting on his black boots and grey winter coat exactly ten minutes before he would have to leave. It didn’t hurt to be a bit early. He was giddy inside, though he did secretly wish that he was meeting up with Race for a date and not some random dude he’d managed to fall for over the internet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He played it in his head as he walked through the light snow falling from the sky. Race would be waiting there, cheeks flushed from the cold. His nose would be, too, and maybe Spot would even risk giving it a quick kiss. Race would laugh; it would be the soft chuckle that Spot sometimes heard when Race was reading a book in their dorm. For once there wouldn’t be that insidious tension between them. He wondered if they would sit beside each other, or across the table? He’d be able to see more of Race’s handsome face if he sat across the table, so maybe he would choose that. And maybe they would do that cute couple thing where they held hands on top of the table. He’d never done that with anyone before. It would be nice to do that with Race. It would be special.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot was so enraptured in his thoughts that he nearly forgot it wasn’t Race he was meeting, it was the internet boy. Spot tried to imagine holding hands with that boy, but it didn’t give him the same fluttering in his chest. It was probably due to the fact that Spot had no clue what he looked like. He’d tried to imagine him before, but it just always looked like Race. At least Spot would finally be able to get that image out of his head. He could finally let go of Race. Spot tried to find some sort of relief in that, but it just ended up becoming a gnawing pain in his chest, like a hole he couldn’t fill.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Desperately trying to leave the gloom and cold behind, Spot opened the cafe door, stepping into the warmth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race’s jaw dropped when Spot walked in, right at the time his date should be coming. He had been right--Spot was the Tumblr boy! There was no denying it now. Three coincidences was already a stretch to write off, this was just too much.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And he looked fucking good;Spot unzipped his grey winter coat to reveal a dark muscle shirt that was doing Spot’s skin tone wonders, and those jeans… God, he hadn’t been lying. Spot did know how to take care of himself and even if those clothes hadn’t been scooped off of the floor, Race desperately wanted to put them there.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Race just hoped they didn’t have a fight in the cafe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment Spot thought he was dreaming, but no, Race was actually there, sitting at a two-seat table by the window waiting for Spot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That’s when Spot put everything together; how he’d only ever texted when Race left, how the internet boy said his roommate showed up to his work when Spot saw Race at the bookstore, how they always were offline when Race and Spot were together, how every fight matched up with his and Race’s… Fuck, how had Spot been so stupid?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He approached Race, who looked as dumbfounded as Spot felt. “So,” he said, sitting across from him. “You think I’m super muscley.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Race cracked up at that, letting some of the tension in his shoulders leave. “You agreed with me,” he countered. Spot let out a huff of a laugh, smiling a bit. It was more of a smirk than a smile, but Race thought it made him look dashing. He loved it. Silence fell over them as they avoided eye contact, the awkwardness between them so distinct that it was practically tangible. “This is a bit awkward,” Race said at last.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Spot agreed, shifting in his seat a little. “We’ve been shit talking to each other for months, to each other.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Race laughed, putting his elbows on the table and dropping his face in his hands. “And we </span>
  <em>
    <span>agreed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot laughed, too. “You’re much better at addressing issues over text than you are in person.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Race peaked between his fingers to see Spot grinning at him, taking off his coat and setting it on the chair behind him. He was staying. Spot wasn’t angry. “Well, you’re better at taking criticism when you don’t think it’s for you,” Race mumbled, not feeling the usual anger he would feel towards Spot. He took off his coat, too.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot didn’t know how someone could be so damn cute. Race had a soft brown wool cardigan over a loose honey coloured t-shirt. He seemed timid, like a deer in fight or flight, but his eyes held a special look, a longing one. It only encouraged Spot to stay, even though he was sure that most people would leave.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They continued conversation, only getting heated a few times, which they were able to de-escalate on their own for once. It was nice. They ordered their coffees separately, still unsure as to how this was all going to pan out, though the last thing they wanted to do was leave.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, they both finished their coffees. Race was tempted to order another one, just as an excuse to stay there with Spot longer, but then he realized he would just be seeing Spot later--they lived together.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, fuck. They lived together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The walk back to their dorm was magical, with the snow falling and dusting Race’s blonde hair in white. He was smiling, kicking the fluffy snow as it piled up on the sidewalk, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. Spot wished he would take one hand out so he could hold it in his.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When the two got back to their dorm, there was a moment of hesitation. Under normal circumstances, they would try to avoid being in there at the same time since it always lead to fights. But maybe… maybe it wouldn’t this time. Spot looked over at Race. His face was flushed from the cold, and Spot didn’t think as he leaned in and kissed the tip of Race’s nose, ignoring his annoyance at the fact that he had to lean up to do so.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before he had the chance to regret it, Race let out a soft chuckle. It was more of a giggle, really. Spot couldn’t help but smile, turning and opening the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Race stepped into their dorm room after Spot, he couldn’t help but touch his fingers to his nose. Spot had kissed him, technically, and it made Race feel all fluttery and lovesick, like he’d felt talking to Spot at the cafe. Who knew Spot could be so sappy?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Race watched as said boy shrugged off his coat, hanging up on his designated hook. Race bent down and unzipped his boots, setting them down on the shoe rack that Spot seemed to refuse to use. As per usual, Spot kicked off his shoes, leaving them on the ground. Race cleared his throat, motioning to the shoes when Spot turned around, looking at Race and then the shoes. He opened his mouth to say something (probably something annoying) but instead he shut his mouth (for once) and placed the shoes on the shoe rack.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Better?” he asked Race, slightly sarcastic, but he had this cute grin on his face so Race let it slide.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, thank you,” Race replied, taking off his coat and hanging it on his hook before making his way to his bed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once again, the two boys fell into silence, both sitting on their beds. They didn’t know what to do--they were never in the room together except for when they went to sleep. It was strange--surreal--to be in such a situation. Both boys stayed quiet, fearing that the moment they spoke the magic spell would wear off and they’d be back to fighting like nothing had happened. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, Race couldn’t take it anymore. “You kissed my nose,” he blurted his thoughts aloud. Spot laughed, raising himself up with his elbows and looking at Race, who was now beet-red with blush.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Amazing observation, Sherlock,” he chuckled. Race didn’t even feel annoyed at his sarcasm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, shut up,” he replied, throwing one of his pillows at Spot, smacking him in the chest. Instead of throwing it back like Race presumed he would, Spot clutched the pillow to his chest, like he was giving it a hug. “Give it back,” Race said, his tone a warning.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot grinned. “Make me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Race mustn’t have been thinking when he launched himself off of his bed and onto Spot’s. The boys wrestled for the pillow, laughing and shouting “give it back!” and “never!” Eventually, the pillow was forgotten and the boys were just play-wrestling on the bed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot was much stronger than Race, so it was no surprise that he won, getting on top of Race and pinning him down with his smaller but muscular form. Their laughter died down as they gasped to catch their breath.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Neither of them knew who leaned in first, but soon enough the two of them were kissing, entangling themselves on Spot’s bed, kisses soft and hesitant before becoming hot and needy. They made out for what felt like minutes and hours at the same time, any sense of time lost to them and they lost themselves in each other.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When they finally broke apart, Race smirked up at Spot. “So, you gonna be online tomorrow?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Kiss it Better</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, guys!</p>
<p>Thank you immensely to @Firecracker_Newsie for this prompt! It was so much fun to write, and I hope it's what you wanted :)<br/>I used these links for the information about dyspraxia, but if I made any mistakes, please tell me so!</p>
<p>Thanks, darlings &lt;3</p>
<p>https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/developmental-coordination-disorder-dyspraxia-in-adults/<br/>https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/developmental-coordination-disorder-dyspraxia/</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dyspraxia could suck Spot balls at this rate. He’d been diagnosed at 5 years old, when his parents finally realised he wasn’t just clumsy and there was actually something wrong with him and took him to the doctor. He was prone to falling, bumping into things, losing his balance during easy things, etc. As he got older, into his pre-teen years, it got worse, and his parents feared it would continue this route. Luckily, his symptoms had leveled out enough for him to actually live on his own (though his brother was persistent with checking on him every second day at least), and he didn’t wind up in the hospital as much anymore.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes he still did, like this particular day. And it was annoying, and embarrassing, too, if he had to be honest. He’d tripped down the stairs at work and sprained an ankle. He, a grown man, tripped down the fucking stairs and sprained his ankle. Spot really wanted to just throw a fit, but he switched his focus to counting all the tiles going down the hallway leading out of the waiting room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d made it to 301 when his name was called by the young man at the front desk. “Spot Conlon?” he called, and Spot carefully moved to stand, his brother immediately popping to his feet and taking his arm like Spot was some elderly man who needed help. Well, he needed help, but he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> elderly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Another young man in a teal nurse’s uniform was waiting by the desk with a wheelchair. Spot couldn’t help but think he was cute--and notice that he’d never seen this particular nurse around before. Spot had been to the hospital enough to know some of the staff; they actually started to keep sending him to the same doctor every time he came in, which was pretty amazing considering that doctor’s tend to be busy. Spot still wasn’t sure how his doctor managed to get the time to see him every time he came through with another injury.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But back to this cute nurse… </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Spot’s heart was racing. Curly hair fell into soft blue eyes, long lashes casting shadows over smooth ivory skin. Normally the uniforms just washed everyone out, making them look tired and bummed out. But not this guy; there was an energy about him that seemed uplifting, even though it was clear by his deep purple eye bags that he was tired. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Conlon,” the nurse said, looking right at Spot, barely casting a glance at his brother (which totally boosted his ego--good ol’ Jackie was always the more desired brother, with or without Spot’s dyspraxia). “I can wheel you into Dr. Larkin’s office now, if you’re ready to go.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With some help from Jack and the nurse, Spot got into the chair, and was wheeled away by the nurse. Before they left, Jack said, “I gotta get back to work, but call me when you’re done here. I’ll come get you--and don’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> about trying to get home alone!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot waved him off as the nurse chuckled. “It’s good that you have such a caring brother,” he said. Spot leaned his head back until it rested against the back of the chair, even though it was low, and closed his eyes. “I was an only child growing up, so I don’t have that luxury.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot huffed out a laugh. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s nice to not have to deal with this alone. Even though sometimes I almost wish I could.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand that,” the nurse replied. When Spot opened his eyes, the nurse was looking down at him and smiling gently. Spot smiled back, ignoring the fact that he was probably blushing. He briefly wondered if he would be able to get this guy’s number, until he remembered he was literally in a hospital in a wheelchair because he had fallen down the stairs. Yeah, his chances weren’t looking too good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot got back to his apartment (which was on the first floor, thank god) with the help of Jack, but was left alone as soon as they got back. “I gotta get back to my class” Jack had said, and Spot hadn’t even bothered to try to convince him to stay. Nothing could make Jack stop teaching--yeah, he wasn’t a student in the best art school in the province, no, he was a goddamn teacher in the best art school in the province. Spot couldn’t help but be proud of him. Sure, he had a natural aptitude for the arts, but he had also worked his ass off to get the position. Spot admired him for that. He’d also gotten the boy of his dreams, settled down into a nice home. No doubt kids would be on the way soon, somehow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot was happy for him--he really was. But his stomach sunk every time he thought of his brother’s successes. Would he be able to find anyone to love? Who loved him? Pushing the fleeting thought of ivory skin and a sweet smile, Spot got himself ready to sleep, then hopped up into his bed, careful not to hit his ankle on anything. Always careful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Careful. Right. That’s how his sorry ass ended up in the hospital yet again two weeks later with a whole new injury. He’d dropped a pen, then reached down to get it, and fell out of his chair, smashing his head into the corner of the door frame. It was lucky he was an efficient worker (his dyspraxia seemed to come through in his balance and such rather than his memory, though that was still sub-par--he could stay on task though. It’s how he kept his job). If any of the other staff missed this much time, they would be swarmed with missed work. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His boss’s daughter had been dropping off something for her dad, and offered to drive Spot to the hospital. He’d gladly accepted, thanking her continuously for her kindness, though he was pretty sure that she had offered partially to get away from her father. It was common workplace knowledge that they didn’t get along.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She waited with him in the waiting room. The lights were hurting his head a bit, so he’d closed his eyes, but it barely helped. The hospital was much busier that day than it had been before when he was there with Jack. It was bustling like an outside market place on a gorgeous summer day, footsteps pounding through Spot’s skull and voices screaming. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He flinched when he felt a light tap on the shoulder. Cracking open an eye, he saw that it was the nurse, this time with a name tag that Spot could see, but the name on it was really long and Spot’s head was killing him so he didn’t bother trying to read it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dr, Larkin is in again, if you’re ready to see her, Mr. Conlon,” the nurse whispered, seemingly aware of his condition. Spot didn’t want to talk, embarrassment closing up his throat, so he just swallowed and nodded. The nurse helped him into the wheelchair again, clearly much stronger than he looked, since he could support Spot (who’s ankle was still a little fucked up). </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They talked on the way to the doctor’s office again, and when Spot tilted his head back, the nurse smiled at him once more. Spot was disappointed to discover that his name tag only had his first initial and last name. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A. Higgins</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Spot wondered what the “a” stood for. Before he worked up the guts to ask, they had reached their destination, parting ways. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spot went back to work after three days of rest (he only had a minor concussion), much to Jack’s disapproval. Spot knew Jack was pissed that Spot hadn’t called him, but was dismissing it. Jack couldn’t expect him to call every time he got a bump or scrape.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t like pissing off his brother, which happened every time he got into another accident, no matter how small. But this time he couldn’t help it, because he needed to pick up more coffee and cream, and Jack was at work. Spot felt like shit, because he had bothered Jack enough the past few days, and there was no way that he could risk his brother’s job. He was an adult, for fuck’s sake, he could do some things on his own, surely.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And he did. He had successfully made it to the store, even on crutches, and was on his way home when shit went wrong. It wasn’t even his fault. Really, it wasn’t. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot was on his way back to his apartment when a group of good-for-nothings thought it would be funny to knock him in the shoulder. Now, a normal person would have been able to stay upright, but Spot was not “normal people”, meaning he completely lost his balance and fell, and since he was holding the crutches, he wasn’t about to catch himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of a head knocking on concrete is sickening. The thump sounds unnatural. That sound was the only thing Spot could remember before everything went black, and he woke up in a hospital bed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot turned his head, expecting to see Jack, but he wasn’t there. His heart did a little flutter when he saw A. Higgins sitting in the cushioned chair, cheeking resting on his fist, pushing up the left side of his face, making him look so soft. His eye bags were even darker than last time they’d seen each other--he mustn’t have been sleeping well. Spot could have just watched him sleep all day (creepy, maybe, but he looked so damn sweet Spot couldn’t help it), but the pain in his head started, and he groaned. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This woke up A. Higgins, who sat up abruptly in his chair at full alert, his eyes focusing on Spot who, no doubt, was grimacing in pain, face contorting, breath shortening. The nurse blushed like he’d been caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He got up, pressing some button, and the pain lessened, allowing Spot to open his eyes after a moment, though that hurt a bit, too. Whatever the nurse had given him was making him feel kinda giddy, like that time he smoked pot in his friend’s basement back in high school, but without the munchies.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, Mr. Conlon,” the nurse started, but Spot shushed him, a grin crossing his face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re cute when you sleep,” he slurred. He smiled at the nurse’s blush, and didn’t miss the way he bit his bottom lip slightly, smiling. If Spot wasn’t stuck in the stupid hospital bed, he would have kissed him then and there. Right as he was about to probably say just that, the moment was ruined by a frantic Jack, running into the room, flipping his shit.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You were jumped!?” he yelled, making Spot wince, groaning in pain. “Oh, sorry,” he whispered, looking sheepishly at the nurse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Conlon wasn’t jumped,” the nurse corrected him. “He was knocked, but lost his balance and hit his head on the concrete. The offenders were already spoken to by the police, which reminds me,” he paused, turning back to Spot. “If you would like to press charges, we have the number of the officer who arrived, and they have all the contact information of the offender, if you would like the officer’s number.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot’s filter was clearly not working, because he outright said, “I’d much rather have your number.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was an awkward pause, before the nurse’s face went beet red, and Jack had to cover his mouth to stop from laughing too loud. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll, uhh,” the nurse stammered, clearly flustered. “I’ll leave you two to discuss the details. I’ll be by the front desk if you need me.” The nurse hurried out of the room, making Spot feel sad, wishing he would have stayed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dude, you’re gonna kick your own ass when you sober up,” Jack grinned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s exactly what Spot did for the next month, which went by without injuries. Jack was visiting him, making sure he was okay, but all he could do was complain about how much he’d fucked up with the nurse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you stop me?” he cried for the millionth time. Jack laughed at him, again. Spot groaned in annoyance. “Fuck, I’m an idiot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, another couple of days later Spot was back in the hospital. He had fucked up his wrist, trying to catch a fall but landing on it weirdly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This time Davie, his brother-in-law, was waiting with him. Jack wasn’t able to get there soon enough, so Jack called Davie, who had the day off, so it wasn’t a problem.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They waited there for what felt like hours, and bless Davie’s pure heart, because the poor guy actually tried to keep Spot distracted from the pain that was worsening in his wrist.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Just when Spot was starting to think that maybe the front desk had forgotten him, he heard a now familiar voice speak to him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Conlon, you’re back,” said A. Higgins. Spot really had to figure out what his first name was. The nurse sounded a bit breathless, but Spot summed it up to how busy he was, always running around the hospital, working.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep,” he said, feeling like a sack of shit when he remembered how terribly their last encounter went. A. Higgins definitely hated him now, or at least thought that he was a major douche. Which he kinda was, even though he hadn’t been technically sober when he asked for the nurse’s number. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dr. Larkin is in today. Our apologies about the wait--she had to make time to see you.” He was stalling. The wheelchair was right there, but he wasn’t telling Spot to get in it yet. Spot wished that it was because he just wanted to talk to him, but it was probably because he was nervous about being alone with Spot because of the number incident. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s alright. It wasn’t that long of a wait,” Davie said, smiling reassuringly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li><span> Higgins seemed to notice Davie for the first time, and did not seem pleased. His brows furrowed in what looked like confusion, but his eyes squinted a bit, showing that he was angry (Spot had practiced reading people’s body language and facial expressions since he was a kid--it helped pass the time while he would wait in the hospital). “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. You are?”</span></li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Davie stood up, and Spot was once again reminded of just how tall he was. The Nurse had to look up a bit to meet his gaze. The expressions on their faces couldn’t be more diverse--Davie was open and welcoming, but A. Higgins was cold and guarded. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Davie, his brother-in-law,” he replied, holding his hand out for a shake.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The nurse’s jaw dropped, his eyebrows shooting up. It was almost comical. “Oh, of course. Jack Kelly’s husband?” he asked, taking his hand and shaking it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s right,” Davie replied, still smiling. “I’ve heard a lot about you from him and Spot--thank you so much for taking care of him. What’s your name, if I may ask?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The nurse glanced at Spot, who was no doubt blushing at the fact that Davie had totally outed him. He smiled, though, and that just made Spot blush more. How could he be so adorable and hot at the same time?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Antonio, but my friends call me Race,” he said, much more warmly than before. “Mr. Conlon, we can go see Dr. Larkin now, if you’re ready.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot just plopped himself wordlessly into the wheelchair while holding his wrist, glaring at Davie as he was wheeled away, who just waved him goodbye.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, you talk about me?” Antonio said, a light tone to his voice. “Y’know, it took longer for you to come back this time. I thought maybe I’d scared you away.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“From what I remember and have been told, I’m the one who asked for your number, so if anything I would’ve scared you,” Spot replied, face burning as he remembered his fuck-up of the year.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t, if that brings you any solace,” Antonio said gently.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spot leaned his head back, and Antonio was smiling at him as per usual. “I still think you’re cute when you sleep,” Spot said, grinning. Antonio blushed, and Spot laughed despite the pain in his wrist. He’d gotten used to pain by now--his tolerance was far too high.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you still want my number, too?” Antonio asked giddly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d like that,” Spot replied. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Spot!” Dr. Larkin cried happily. Damn, they’d run out of time again. “It’s good to see you again.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Great to be back, Meda,” he deadpanned, making Antonio laugh. He grinned, pleased with himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They got his wrist fixed up pretty quickly, putting it in a brace. “You’re lucky you only got a sprain this time around, Spot. Not like when you came to me with a fractured shin from playing soccer.” Spot blushed while Antonio laughed again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They got Spot’s wrist fixed up pretty quickly (Dr. Larkin put it in a cast just to be extra safe) and Antonio walked Spot back. They didn’t bother with the wheelchair this time, and Spot was almost disappointed--he liked looking up and seeing Antonio smiling down on him, like his own guardian angel. But it was also nice to walk by his side, enjoying their height difference, and the way their footsteps sounded on the tiled floor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The nurse stopped right before the automatic doors, just far enough that they wouldn’t open. Spot stopped, too, and before he could ask what was going on, Antonio was taking out a sharpie taking Spot’s good wrist gently, writing “Race” and his number with a small heart. It made Spot’s own heart do flips, his stomach erupting with butterflies as he smiled at his wrist, and then Antonio.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just don’t break that one before you can put my number in your phone,” he said softly, looking at the floor before looking up at Spot, smiling nervously.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t,” Spot replied, breathless from the other man’s beauty.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Davie noticed the number immediately, and when Jack found out the next day when he came to visit, he teased the shit out of Spot, but Spot didn’t care. He was too happy to care about anything but his date that weekend with Race Higgins.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Fusing Back Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was clear as day that Spot didn’t fit in practically wherever he was, like a puzzle piece in the wrong box. He was always standing there, awkward and to the side, only speaking when spoken to, and acting far older than the other kids his age. Anyone who knew his background blamed it on his father.  He was in the military, managing to bring Spot and his older brother, Jack, up strictly, even though he was always being sent away on missions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Spot had always been cast out. The odd one out. When he was younger, the other kids at whatever school they were at for those few months would pick on him. He was an easy target; he was smaller than the other boys his age, and didn’t know how to interact with others. He was painfully gullible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whenever the other kids would start to pick on him at recess, Jack would show up. It started when Spot was just in kindergarten, and Jack was in the second grade. He would come out for his recess, and scare off the kids. Spot wished he could be strong like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He figured it was a normal thing for younger siblings--to want to be like their older siblings. But Jack was perfect, everything Spot wanted to be. He didn’t get affected by other people’s words, and he never backed down from a fight. When (or if) anyone picked on him, he stood his ground and always won. People liked him. Spot idolized him, wishing he could be like that. Strong. Independent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, look,” the other kids grinned, and young Spot felt chills go up his spine just hearing their voices. “The homo’s being a wimp.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spot wasn’t entirely sure what a “homo” was, but from the way the boys were saying it, he figured it was bad. He also wasn’t sure how sitting under a tree reading was being wimpy, but they sounded quite sure that it was. Spot had just wanted to be left alone, for one recess. Was that too much to ask for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were four of them, and one of Spot, so of course they won the “fight”. In retrospect, Spot realised it wasn’t much of a fight, since he didn’t try to defend himself that well. They pushed him, then kicked him, called him all sorts of slurs, and dumped his book on the dirt mound by the playground. Well, at least it wasn’t mud this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That same day in the computer lab during their computer class, Spot looked up the words that they had called him while the teacher was busy helping another student. He hadn’t known that liking another boy was bad. It didn’t really make sense to him. But… What did he know? He couldn’t even socialise with the other kids his age. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling a horrid, saddening emotion stir in his chest that he would later learn was shame, he closed his computer tabs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This went on for all of Spot’s schooling, really. It got worse when Jack left for junior high, and again for high school as they got older, because that meant there was no one to protect him. He had to fend for himself, and not having friends didn’t help. On top of that, he realised that he was, as a matter of fact, a homosexual. All this time, those boys had been right about him, and Spot couldn’t help but wonder if all the other horrid things they had said to him over the years was true, too. He wanted to believe what Jack said, that whatever the kids were saying were all lies, but it was so hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until another boy transferred to the school that Spot finally started to learn the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” said the new boy. He stuck out his hand, and Spot acted as though he didn’t just flinch. The new boy pretended he didn’t. “I’m Race. What’s your name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spot waited for a moment. Was this boy really talking to him? “Uh, I’m Spot.” He shook the boy’s hand. Race plopped down next to him by the tree he had been sitting under, once again reading and trying to get some peace. It was stupid that they made the junior high kids still go outside during lunch for the first while, but, hey, what could he do?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’cha reading?” Race asked, peering over his shoulder to look at his book. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spot prickled up at the closeness. “P-Percy Jackson?” That wasn’t a question--why did Spot make that seem like a question?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Race beamed. “I love that series! Have you read The Heroes of Olympus?” he asked, and, damn, Spot was trying really hard not to fall for this guy, but it was already too late. Race took his silence as a no, and kept talking. “It’s amazing~” he sang, leaning back against the tree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Spot had the chance to respond, the usual bullies were back. This time, their smiles were more wicked than ever before. Great. Just what Spot needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the new kid, right?” one of them asked. Race nodded, obviously thrown off by their abrupt arrival. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sean</span>
  </em>
  <span> here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Race gave a hesitant smile, quirking his eyebrow. “Sean?” He looked at Spot. “Is that your actual name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spot sighed, and nodded reluctantly. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group of boys gave a chorus of mocking laughter. They all knew that Spot hated being called “Sean”--maybe even more than anything else they called him. That’s probably why they did it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like ‘Spot’ better,” Race smiled at him, and Spot couldn’t help but smile back, though somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that they were about to eat it from these bullies. But Race’s comment cut their laughter short, and seemed to piss them off even more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, he likes cock big time, so you’ll want to get away from him,” one declared, and Race laughed at him. A full, gut-laugh. It sounded like a whole symphony to Spot. The most beautiful poetry--better than what he had read in any book. He would’ve joined had he not been red-faced and staring at the ground in shame from being outed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Priceless,” Race wheezed, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. “Seriously, though, that doesn’t mean squat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got up, and for a moment Spot thought he was just going to leave him there for the bullies to have their way with him, but then he extended his hand to Spot. “Come on,” he grinned, “we can go be gay somewhere else.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spot took his hand, tucking his book under his arm, and they hurried away while holding hands. The bullies were too stunned to do anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot and Race stayed friends for a while, and Race helped Spot get more comfortable talking to people. They even ended up making their own group of misfits, in which Race and Spot were kinda the leaders. It felt nice, like a second family for Spot to go to when he was sad or lonely at school. Or when he just wanted to have a good time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In just a year and a half, Race had made Spot see the truth, finally. There was nothing wrong with him, and Spot knew that he would forever be grateful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Race had to transfer again during their second year of junior high. Spot was crushed, but he knew there was nothing he could do. They spent as much time together as they could before Race left, and Spot held onto those times, using the memories of Race’s kindness as fuel to keep himself going. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though he was irreparably hurt by Race’s leave, he moved on without him. It wasn’t easy at first, but Spot got used to the empty chair at their lunch table during break, and to the way he seemed to have a part of him missing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was until his junior year of high school that Spot felt that part of him return, and it returned with the boy who’d originally taken it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spot!” he called, and before Spot could even register who the voice belonged to, someone was jumping on his back and wrapping their arms around him. Spot pulled him around to the front, and hugged Race so tightly that the boy could barely breathe. But Race was still laughing his signature laugh, hugging Spot back with just as much ferocity. “Jeez, man, I barely recognized you. Holy fucking glow-up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spot chuckled into the boy’s shoulder. “So you think I’m attractive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spot’s knees nearly gave out when Race replied. “I’ve always found you attractive, Spottie.” Race laughed yet again, and pulled back enough to run a hand through Spot’s short hair. “That’s old news. Though I can see you haven’t grown an inch since seventh grade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck off,” Spot huffed, finally letting the boy go. “I can see you haven’t matured since seventh grade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” Race replied, grinning. “It’s why you fell for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, if only he knew.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, Spot was horrible at keeping secrets from Race--he always had been. So his little (also read as: big fat enormous) crush on his best friend didn’t stay hidden for very long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had been laying on Race’s bed, finally getting to catch up with one another alone, blurry eyed and exhausted, yet refusing to go to sleep. They wanted to keep their question-game going. It was well past midnight--more like 4:00am, or something close. They were both out of their minds, practically delirious, and Spot blames everything that happened on those facts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever kissed someone?” Race asked, and Spot blushed at his answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” he mumbled. “No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to?” Race asked, and when Spot looked over at him, he found that his friend was already studying his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You already asked a question,” Spot said, totally not looking at his best friend’s lips. “It’s my turn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Race got up, moving over Spot. Said boy held his breath. “Do you want to?” Race repeated, and Spot didn’t trust his voice, just nodding instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s when Race connected their lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like that, the little piece that Spot had been missing came back to him. It was Race. It had been him all along. Spot wrapped his arms around the boy’s neck, scared that if he let him go, Race would leave again, taking that piece with him once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They kissed for what felt like hours, though it was likely only ten minutes tops. The more they kissed, the more put together Spot felt, like all of his broken parts were fusing back together, healing everywhere that Race touched him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they broke apart, they smiled at each other. Finally, they were both whole.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey, guys!</p><p>Long time since I posted on this fic. I'm so sorry for the wait.<br/>I'm going to be completely honest with you--this is definitely not my best work. I really just wanted to get something out to motivate me to do more. <br/>I promise I won't just post crap again. Please forgive me :p</p><p>Thanks, darlings &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Fuck Romantics</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prompt I used: My new romance-obsessed friend asked me who my last date was with and I was too embarrassed to say I’ve never been on a date so I blurted your and name and it turns out they know who you are</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, guys!</p><p>Here's my redemption chapter :) I hope it's more enjoyed than the previous one *nervous laughter*</p><p>Thanks, darlings &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Spot had agreed to go out for coffee, which he knew would come with listening to whatever new romance his friend, Jack, would be involved in now. Honestly, the guy seemed so set on finding love as soon as he could. He fell hard, fast, but still picked himself up faster than Spot ever could have.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot sipped his coffee and listened to Jack go on about his new relationship. His poly relationship, surprisingly enough. That had peeked Spot’s interest at first; he’d never known that Jack was poly, but he quickly realised that Jack felt the same way about it that he did every other relationship. Spot had a good feeling about it, though. He thought this one would work. He was happy for his friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After Jack was done spilling all the details about their first date with all three of them, he turned the talk onto Spot, which was not something the shorter boy had expected. They had a set dynamic. Jack did the talking. Spot did the listening. It had always been that way, and Spot didn’t like that it had suddenly changed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” Jack started, leaning onto the table even more. “What about you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot put down his coffee mug, but gripped the handle like his life depended on it. “What about me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jack laughed, then pressed further. “What was your first date like?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, bad territory. How did Spot tell his friend that he had never been on a date? His friend who was obsessed with everything involving romance? They’d just started to actually hang out and be friends, and Spot didn’t want to seem so lame so soon into their friendship. There was plenty of time for Jack to figure that out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Realising that he had to come up with something, Spot came up with nothing. “Well, it was so long ago. It’s hard to remember.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aww,” Jack booed jokingly. “Fine. Who was it with? Surely you can remember that, Spottie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Race,” he blurted. In his defence, Race, his long-time friend and now roommate, was the first person he thought of. It made sense that he would use Race as a scapegoat, like they normally did to each other. But when Spot saw the look on his friend’s face, he knew he’d fucked up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You went on a date with Racer?” Jack beamed. “No fucking way! When?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot coughed, clearing his throat. “Well, it was so long ago. And it didn’t really work between us, so we decided to just be friends.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jack shook his head, nearly falling out of his seat in excitement. Spot prayed silently that they wouldn’t get kicked out of the small cafe for being too disruptive, but it was already loud enough in there. They’d probably be fine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s grown up to be such a cutie, though,” Jack said, and Spot could practically see the gears turning in his head. Mr. Match-Maker was gonna strike. “Try it again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No way,” Spot replied without hesitation, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. Jack went to say something, probably argue with Spot over the subject, but Spot cut him off. “Not happening, Kelly. We’re great friends, and I would never take the risk of screwing it up over something that didn’t even work the first time.” Why was Spot getting so defensive? He didn’t even like Race like that--he lived with the guy for crying out loud! When you see someone cry over horrid movies and smell their morning breath practically every day, the charm is quickly lost.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jack pouted. “Fine, then,” he said, but Spot wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew there was no way Jack Kelly of all people would give up that easily. He was a stubborn ass, almost as stubborn as Spot (and Race). Kelly was definitely planning something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot would have to wait to find out what, and try and not be completely busted in his lie.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Race had been curled up on the couch in a position that was probably terrible for his back, working on his laptop. He was playing soft work jazz on another tab, sipping some tea as he wrote. There was a serenity in the air so thick in the air it was almost tangible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was completely shattered when Spot, his long-time friend and now roommate, burst through the apartment door looking panicked. He looked ridiculously disheveled, hair blown back from his face, panting, with wide eyes scuttering everywhere. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow, Spottie,” Race said, placing his laptop on the coffee table, turning himself to look at Spot fully. He had to get this story out of him before the curiosity wrecked him. “What happened to you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot practically slammed the door, kicking off his boots, not bothering to remove his leather jacket before sprinting over to Race. It wasn’t really necessary--their apartment wasn’t that big, with the living room and kitchen only separated by a small dip in the floor. A dip that Spot successfully tumbled over, making Race laugh at him before tugging his coat to get him to sit on the couch and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>relax</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s gotten into you, Spottie?” he chuckled. He’d never seen his friend so panicked, and it was the most comedic relief he’d gotten in a while. Excuse him for enjoying it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After taking a couple of deep breaths, Spot told him everything. Race listened in disbelief. How many times had he talked about Jack and their adventures as kids growing up together in the slums of Lower Manhattan selling newspapers to survive? Too many to count. And Spot hadn’t put together that this was the same Jack? He expected nothing less from this moron.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re an idiot,” he said when Spot was all done, punching him lightly on his massive bicep. Though short, Spot was covered in muscle. He looked like a mini bull, and he hated it whenever Race told him that. So, Race did it a lot, obviously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Spot groaned, dropping his face into his hands. Race wrapped an arm around his distressed friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you didn’t completely fuck it up,” he said, trying to console him. “You mentioned that we were still friends, which is true, so we can build on it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot peeked at him from the side. “What do you mean, ‘build on it’?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll pretend that we went out on a date years ago. Go along with the story, so if we’re ever asked about it by Jackie, or anyone, we’ll have correlating stories to tell them.” He squeezed Spot a little tighter, totally not relishing how Spot fit under his arm and into his side like he was made to snuggle there. “It’ll be fine, Spottie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot huffed, but removed his hands from his face and leaned more into Race, which Race had learned over time meant success in calming down a distressed Spot. They stayed like that for a little longer before Spot got up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I gotta go work the evening shift tonight,” he grumbled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought you had today off,” Race replied, though he was used to this rodeo. Spot would take as many hours as he could, even though he didn’t need them by any means.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The other guy couldn’t make it tonight, so they called me and asked if I could cover it.” Race watched as Spot dragged himself to the door, tugging his boots on. Drama Queen. “You better be sleeping by the time I get back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know I won’t be,” Race called after him as he left. He resumed his work, blissfully unaware of the fact that his silented phone was blowing up with text messages from none other than Jack Kelly.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until late that night that Spot came back, only to find Race still on the couch, typing away. He knew that Race would be there. Again, stubborn as hell. Therefore, he wasn’t annoyed that Race was still working. What he was annoyed about was that Race had ignored his text about throwing Spot’s frozen pizza in the oven for when he got back from work since he’d forgotten his food for break. They also had a system. When one was in the apartment before the other, they would have some food set aside for the other because they knew they’d be tired as hell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Race had thrown off the system.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Racer,” he called. Race ignored him, furiously typing away. He sighed, then tried again, a bit louder. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Race</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The other man turned around, pulling out his earbuds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hey, Spottie,” he said, smiling. That smile was all it took to make the irritation fade out of Spot’s voice. The little bastard probably knew it, too. It would explain why he smiled so much around the apartment. “How was work?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t answer my texts.” Okay, maybe not </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the irritation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Race’s eyebrows furrowed together. “What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot finished kicking his boots off before going to the freezer to start the pizza himself. “I texted you to ask if you would put the pizza in the oven for us to eat when I got back ‘cause I forgot my lunch.” He set the oven to preheat, then turned around to look at Race. “You ignored it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Race grabbed his phone off of the coffee table where it had been laying face-down. His face paled. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that, Spottie, but I think we have a bigger problem.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot huffed in annoyance. “What could be a bigger problem than not getting to eat?” Race knew at this point that there was nothing more important to Spot than food. He had a huge appetite, and would get extremely “hangry” when not fed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jack.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With that, Spot was dashing to the living room, throwing himself on the couch beside Race as he scrolled through all of the text messages he had missed, the last one being;</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and i know u have the day off tmr so dont even try saying no 2 coffee</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were silent for a few minutes, neither of them knowing what to do. Spot was the first to break the silence. “Tell him you’re busy?” he offered, but Race shook his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He knows I’m not,” he sighed. Spot wrapped an arm around his distressed friend, and squeezed him tight, totally not relishing how Race fit into his shoulder with his face tucked into Spot’s neck like he was made to snuggle there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like I gave him any details that you’ve gotta follow,” Spot said. “Just be extremely vague and fill me in on the details later. It’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Race nodded into his neck, and Spot tried not to think about how adorable it was.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Race had agreed to go out for coffee, not to be interrogated by Jack about something that supposedly happened years ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m telling you, Jackie,” he tried again. “I really don’t remember much about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jack frowned at his friend. “I think that’s bull. Spot doesn’t remember, you don’t remember.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe the date was just not very memorable,” Race retorted, drinking more of his tea. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two friends went back and forth for a while. Eventually Race got tired of it, and turned the conversation onto Jack’s newest romance, which he’d heard about already. But Jack would take any excuse to talk about his boyfriends.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Race was glad that he wouldn’t have much to fill Spot in on later. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Spot and Race groaned as they heard one of their phones going off. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Again</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Jack had been spamming both of them all day, even though he had just seen both of them in two days’ time. All day, he had been bothering the two men about getting back together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can we </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>just tell him we were never a thing so he’ll leave us alone?” Race begged, though he already knew the answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No way,” Spot detested. “Then he’ll know I’ve never been on a date!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, Spot!” Race cried. “If that’s all you’re worried about, I’ll take you out on a fucking date!” Slamming his laptop shut, he looked at his friend in the eyes. “Go get dressed nicely. I’m taking you out to dinner.” With that, Race left for his room, leaving a stunned Spot behind him.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Spot really shouldn’t have been as nervous as he was. It was Race. He’d known Race for years. And it’s not like this was a real date. They’d gone out for dinner together before. This was nothing new. He was fine. But he’d never been on a date before… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not a date</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he told himself as he picked out a nicer shirt to wear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not a date.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Race really shouldn’t have been as nervous as he was. It was Spot. He’d known Spot for years. And it’s not like it was a real date. They’d gone out for dinner together before. This was nothing new. He was fine. He’d been on plenty of dates before… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not a date</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he told himself as he picked out a nicer pair of pants to wear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not a date.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It sure as hell felt like a date. They went to a restaurant downtown, Race drove, and refused all efforts Spot made on picking up the bill. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot seemed to keep his cool during dinner, though at first Race could feel him furiously bouncing his knee in anxiety. It hadn’t come to Race’s mind until he was sitting across from Spot at a candle-lit table that this was his first date ever. Even if it was just Race, this was the first time Spot would ever have anyone dote on him and take him out for a nice time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was astonishing that Spot had never been on a date before. He was fucking handsome. His curly dark hair swept up by the wind and out of his eyes. They were like fresh fudge, warm and comforting, with his long, dreamy lashes. Then there was his jawline, which could cut rocks. Dear Lord, he was perfect. Race also realised that Spot had recently shaved. Spot hated shaving. The thought that Race was worth shaving for made his heart flutter. The cologne Spot was wearing was intoxicating in the best of ways, but it was nothing compared to his physique. He was chiseled, like a goddamn statue. His years of hard work and sweat paid off. Fuck, he looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Race really needed to step up his game.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After dinner, Race suggested they drive down to the boardwalk and take a stroll under the lamp post-light boardwalk. And it totally wasn’t because Spot looked goddamn angel in soft lights.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Race was starting to regret this whole night. He’d set himself up to fall for Spot, and, damn, he was falling </span>
  <em>
    <span>fast</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’d only ever let himself consider Spot as a friend, but this whole date situation was really blurring the lines of their friendship.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were walking hand in hand down the boardwalk, Spot talking about something, probably work, and Race trying not to get too distracted by how the lights made his eyes sparkle light stars. It felt so natural, being by his friend’s side, holding his hand, trying really hard to not kiss him then and there… </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>When Race suggested the boardwalk, Spot was all for it. Out in the open, he would have somewhere else to look instead of Race’s crystal blue eyes. His easy smile while Spot talked made him just want to talk more. His soft blonde curls were the cutest things Spot had ever seen, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to reach out and touch them. Plant little kisses along his perfect jaw, run his hands over his toned body--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yeah, this whole date thing was making it really hard for Spot to keep the distinction of their friendship and this being a real date. And it’s not like he had anything to compare this to, so he couldn't even figure out if how he was feeling was normal or not. This was the best time he’d had in a while. If this is how dates normally went, he wanted to go on dates every day. Though something in the back of his mind told him that’s just how dates with Race were… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the two men walked down the boardwalk, Spot knew he was falling hard for his best friend. If he were to be honest with himself, he would have recognized that he’d been feeling like this for a long time. The lights were making Race’s hair look like locks of gold, and his hand was warm in Spot’s. Spot had never felt more cared for. Everything was perfect.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But… this wasn’t real. Spot’s mood dropped from the high he’d been riding nearly all night to the lowest he’d felt in a long time. Race immediately picked up on it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong, Spottie?” he asked, and Spot felt choked up by the softness of his voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s just…” he started, but he couldn’t get the words out. He took a deep breath and started again. “Tonight’s been really fun, but…” Race looked like there were a million things he wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut. Spot was grateful for that. “But it’s not real,” Spot finally got out, and it sounded much more bitter than he intended. “This isn’t a real date, and I fucking wish it was because it’s the most cared for I’ve felt in forever. But it’s not. And now we’re going to have to go back to our apartment, and I’ll just be thinking about how all of this was fake, and…” Damn, now he was going to cry. He shouldn’t have ever agreed to this. Breaking Race’s hold on his hand, he started to speed-walk back to the car. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spot!” Race called after him, and damn his long legs, because he caught up to Spot in no time. “Where are you going?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Back to the car,” he grumbled. “I shouldn’t have ever agreed to this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The footsteps behind him died. He heard Race say, “Don’t say that.” Fuck, he sounded broken. Like someone had just torn his heart out of his chest. Spot stopped walking, turning around only half way and looking at the wooden planks beneath his feet. After he stayed silent, Race asked, “Did you mean it? Do you really wish this was a real date?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Knowing that there was no way he could lie, Spot decided to just be honest and get this over with. “Yeah, Racer. I do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>More footsteps, and then Race was standing in front of him. Gently, he took Spot’s chin in his hand and lifted his head so they could look each other in the eyes. Race looked blurry with all of the tears building up in Spot’s eyes, and he blinked them away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stayed like that for a few seconds, before Race whispered, “Me, too,” and leaned in, closing the gap between their mouths.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though he’d never been on a date, Spot had kissed people before. He closed his eyes, kissing Race back. He let his hands get tangled in the other man’s curls as he felt arms wrap around his waist, pulling him closer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they broke apart, they stayed looking into each other’s eyes. Race broke the silence by talking against Spot’s lips, “Now you can tell Jack that you’ve been on a </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> date.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot smiled, kissing Race again. “I can.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Soothe the Pain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prompt from @Broadwayandtears: "Could you maybe do hurt (emotionally or physically) race with some comforting spot? I’m a sucker for hurt/comfort"</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, guys!</p><p>Long time no see ;P<br/>I'm so glad that I got a request, so thank you to @Broadwayandtears for bringing the inspiration for this chapter.<br/>This series is open for requests and/or prompts, so feel free to drop into the comment section and request whatever it is that you would like to read :)<br/>This chapter does require some WARNINGS of PHYSICAL and EMOTIONAL ABUSE. If this is a trigger for you, SKIP THIS CHAPTER PLEASE!</p><p>Thanks, darlings &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>One would think that after all these years of having to tiptoe around his house, Race would get better at being quiet. But, alas, he did not. In the past decade, he’d gotten better at dodging his father’s blows than he had at being quiet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had started when Race was about six, at least, that’s what he could remember. His mom had left--she wanted a better life than what his father could provide. She tried to take Race, but his father had managed to strip her of any stability she could get a grasp on, so she lost the custody battle. His father was never quite the same, however. He picked up habits that were slowly destroying him, and took his anger out on the only other person available. Little Racer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No one knew about the horrid things that had started to happen in that house. The teachers at school asked Mr. Higgins one day about the bruise on Race’s arm one day that looked suspiciously like a thumb print, though no one dared say it. Mr. Higgins explained to the teachers that Race had fallen while crossing the street and was nearly hit. The mark on his arm was from Mr. Higgins’ efforts to protect his son. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As. If.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Race got older, and the bruises started to be placed in more concealed places, under his t-shirts, mostly. On some occasional days when his father really lost it at him in a drunken rampage, Race would use the concealer he’d snagged from a drug-store, or take the day off of school. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Race learned to take care of himself--cooking his own meals (though his father somehow guilted him into making food for ‘his old man’, too), doing the dishes, doing all the cleaning and laundry, working a part-time job on top of school, paying half of bills when his father’s alcoholism drank up too much of the money (which was most of the time), etc. Throughout all of this, Race never told a single soul about what happened to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except for Spot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot was the only person who ever understood Race, and Race knew he wouldn’t tell anyone. Maybe it was selfish to use Spot’s loyalty like that, but he was the only friend Race had. Race cherished the nights where Spot would hold him until he fell asleep, calming him down enough that Race could forget that he’d have to go back to his house in a few hours time. Spot would fight Race over any bad thing he said about himself, proving him wrong every single time. He was the only person who listened, made him feel valued, and seen as more than a punching bag.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Race still never told Spot everything, however. From what Spot knew, Mr. Higgins had a wretched habit of yelling at his son, and had smacked him upside the head a few times to straighten out his attitude. Just that much had pissed Spot off to a nearly untameable degree; Race didn’t risk telling him any more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Truth was, he couldn’t live without his father. As horrid as living </span>
  <em>
    <span>with </span>
  </em>
  <span>him was, being without him wasn’t an option. That had been yelled into his head enough times to go through, that was for sure. And who would take care of his father if Race left? Clearly he couldn’t take care of himself. Even still, Race had an escape bag ready to go. Just in case. Emergencies only.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sadly, there was an emergency.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His father was really out of it this time, drunk and far passed his usual cut-off. Race wasn’t even sure what he had started hollering about. He’d just heard the older man’s voice pounding through his head, threatening to make him go def with all of the wracket. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was like Race’s life had been scripted up until that day. Someone had written out the same scene hundreds of times, changing the trigger action each time and calling it a new chapter. Race was so tired of it, but he knew fighting back was hopeless. His father far outmatched him in strength, and Race was exhausted from school followed by a full day of work. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the first blow connected with his gut, Race gazed upon the familiar stars of pain. The second made him fold over and cough, groaning from pain, though at this point Race couldn’t help but wonder if that was because he had done that so many times it was instinct? Or was it because he actually felt the pain? The third blow knocked him off of his feet, falling on his ass, which would no doubt give him a matching bruise on his tailbone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> hurt. Race clutched his gut, stifling his gasps and groans of pain by clenching his teeth. He waited a few moments, eyes screwed shut and he stayed frozen on the ground, before getting up slowly. He’d learned the hard way that getting up fast would just make him more disoriented, especially with the pain blooming stronger and stronger over his midriff. Another part of the script. He could handle it. He knew the lines, the cues. He’d be alright.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except that his father seemed to want to improvise. And improvise he did. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clearly, seeing that his son’s pain tolerance had grown significantly, he snapped completely. Grabbing the closest thing to him, he smashed it on the side of Race’s head. Unfortunately for Race, that item happened to be a half empty beer bottle. It broke apart, cutting the side of Race’s head, and the boy was once again collapsing on the ground in pain. He faded in and out of consciousness, barely registering his father scuffling down the hall towards the living room with a new bottle like nothing had happened, leaving Race on the ground.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until a while later (it felt like minutes to Race, but he was sure that was unlikely) that he was finally able to get up. He crawled to the living room entrance, peaking around the corner. There was his pig of a father, out cold, sprawled over the couch, beer spilled all over him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carefully, Race picked himself up off of the floor, creeping upstairs to his bedroom. He had half the mind to just stay there, wait his horrible headache out. But something told him that he needed to go--that things would only escalate from here. His life may be shit, but Race had no intent on dying. Not this young, anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He practically fell to his knees when he went to get his emergency bag from under his bed, feeling his head swarm, something warm trickling down his neck. Ignoring it, he fished his phone from his bedside table where he had left it earlier that day. Was it still the same day? He sent a quick text to the only person he knew would be able to help, and crept back down the stairs, bag slung over his shoulder, phone clutched in his hand like his life depended on it. It might just. The thought made Race shiver.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tugged his sneakers on, opting on waiting outside for Spot.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was clearly nighttime when Spot arrived, dressed in a shirt Race knew was a pyjama shirt and a pair of jeans. He must have been sleeping, or at least getting ready to, whenever Race texted. Spot took one look at Race and went dead silent. Race knew he must look like shit, tears trekking down his face and blood matted in his curly hair. Spot opened the car door for him, taking his bag and putting it in the trunk. Nothing was said while Spot drove, but Race couldn’t bear the silence any longer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where are we going?” he asked. Spot turned onto another street.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The hospital,” he replied, and Race didn’t miss the lack of emotion in the other boy’s voice. He knew what Spot was doing--closing himself off so he didn’t blow up. He knew that Race would panic if he did, but Race was already panicking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why the hospital?” Race exclaimed, wincing at the pain in his head and gut that flared every time he moved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because you need medical attention,” Spot replied, still void, though the clenching of his jaw was visible. He was close to breaking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Race detested, “I’m fine, Spottie, really--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is not fine!” Spot yelled, cutting off Race and swerving to get into a gas station parking lot, parking without care and turning to face Race. It was only then that Race could see that Spot had been holding back tears that were now flowing down his face. Race had never seen his friend this hurt. He hated that he was the cause of it. “Look at yourself! You need help, and I didn’t help enough, so I’m bringing you to people who can!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won’t go to the hospital!” Race yelled back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Racer, you’re bleeding from your goddamn head! There’s glass in your hair, and I know you have bruises somewhere else! I’m not a fucking idiot!” Race sat there, stunned, as Spot took deep breaths to calm himself down. “I’m taking you to the hospital whether you want to go or not. If you don’t want to talk to the police and deliver to your dad what he deserves, that’s your choice.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Race didn’t reply as Spot began to drive again, and they reached the hospital within minutes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the front desk man saw them walk in (Spot supporting Race with an arm around his waist, practically carrying him into the hospital), he was on the intercom getting a doctor available before they had even reached his desk. They took Race away in a wheelchair, and Spot told him he would come into his room as soon as he could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They ended up having to remove glass from Race’s hair, and they didn’t cut his curls at his request, which he thought was rather kind. It was a brief surgery--none of his injuries were life threatening, even the bottle to the head, which they repeatedly told him he was lucky for. Nothing about this seemed to tell Race that he was lucky, but he understood what they meant.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A policewoman came in a while later, and sat down to get a statement from him. He thought about what Spot had said… and told her everything. He had to stop a few times because he was crying too hard to continue, but the police woman was gentle with him, letting him take his time. When he was done, she thanked him, promising to apprehend his father. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot came in as she was leaving, rushing to Race’s bedside. He stood there for a moment, taking in Race sitting up in the hospital bed, having adjusted the bed so he could rest against the back, with his hospital gown, blankets pulled up to his waist, head bandaged. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot pulled up one of the chairs, practically collapsing in it and immediately bursting into tears. He put his face in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. He cried quietly, though his whole body was shaking. Race reached out, tracing his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t cry, Spottie,” he said gently. This only made Spot cry harder, and Race tugged on his wrist. “C’mere.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carefully, Spot got onto the hospital bed beside Race. It was a tight fit, but Race liked it. He was pressed up to Spot’s side, and he snuggled in. Hesitantly, Spot wrapped his arms around Race, rubbing up and down one arm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s all gonna be okay, Race. I promise,” he whispered into the boy’s curls. Race ended up falling asleep like that, tucked into Spot like it would protect him from the rest of the world. Spot kissed the top of his head, praying that it would.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The trial didn’t go on for long. There was far too much forensic evidence available to boost the prosecution's case; paper trails from when Race would transfer money from his account to his father’s to pay bills, his father’s fingerprints on the glass bottle that was proven to be the item used to cause the damage to Race’s head, and his father’s large stash of alcohol all around the house that they were able to prove he bought. Even the circumstantial evidence aligned far too much to be denied by a reasonable person. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There wouldn’t have had to be a trial at all if his father had just admitted to abusing Race. All things considering, it ran pretty smoothly. The scariest part for Race was having to testify against his father, who was sitting right there, staring at him the whole time with a face that said, “I’ll get you for this.” Race had the option to speak to the judge in a separate room to make the whole process easier for him, but he chose not to. He wanted to see his father’s face as he finally got what he deserved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Race’s mother came in to testify as well, saying she did believe that her ex-husband would do these things. Spot had to testify, too. Well, he’d actually offered, and the prosecution jumped on it. He told them how he had suspected Race was being abused, but had no evidence to prove it. Mostly, his testimonial was focused on the night he came to pick up Race from his house and took him to the hospital. He got choked up during the process when he was asked about Race’s injuries, and it took every bit of self restraint Race had to not run up there and hold Spot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The judge sentenced his father to jail, but Race didn’t really hear for how long. All he remembered was the judge saying, “You’ll never be allowed around Antonio again, Mr. Higgins,” before spacing out because, holy shit, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he did it!</span>
  </em>
  <span> He looked over at the prosecution's table, beaming at his mom before his eyes laid on Spot, who looked ravishing in his button up and slacks. He smiled back at Race, and in that moment he believed Spot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was all going to be okay.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Race moved in with his mother after that. She had pulled herself together so much since he was a child--whatever his father had screamed about was wrong. She had been trying for </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span> to talk to her “little Antonio”, and was ecstatic that they could finally be together again. Race kept his job, and accumulated a ton of money since he no longer had to pay bills, and didn’t bother transferring school. Whatever normalcy he could keep in his life that had been flipped upside down was crucial in maintaining his sanity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot came around a lot, too. Race’s mom </span>
  <em>
    <span>adored</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, which the boy never failed at teasing Spot about. Race would cook for the three of them, and whenever Race’s mom wasn’t around, Race liked to pretend it was just him and Spot in their own little world, away from the nightmares and scars that Race would likely have to live with for the rest of his life.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until one night when Spot was sleeping over that Race had a nightmare during the night. He awoke with a gasp, shooting up out of the bed into a sitting position. He couldn’t tell where he was in the dark, and he heard a rustling next to him that made him jump.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Racer?” Spot asked, but Race was panting too hard to answer, desperately trying to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A light turned on, and Race saw Spot holding himself up on one elbow, looking up at him in tired confusion. “More nightmares?” he asked, and Race nodded, subconsciously touching the side of his head where, if you parted the hair, you could see a jagged scar. “C’mere,” Spot said, laying back down on the bed and opening his arms so Race could lay over his chest, which he did without hesitation. “Do you want to talk about it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Race waited a moment before answering. “Why did he hate me?” He was sobbing onto Spot’s bare chest before he could stop himself. “I did what he asked, and more. Why couldn’t he just love me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot rubbed his back, taking a minute to think before he answered. “I’m not sure if it’s a matter of love or not, Racer. I think he had issues that he didn’t know how to deal with, and chose to take them out on you instead of getting help. And he’s a fool for it, and he’s a fool if he didn’t love you. You’re the most beautiful, kindest, perfect person in the world, Race. You are the best son anyone could ask for. He’s the one missing out, not you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Race nodded, not trusting himself to speak without his voice breaking. He repeated in his head what Spot had told him just a few months earlier; it was all going to be okay.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spot held him for the rest of the night, even when they both fell back asleep.</span>
</p>
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